


Blink

by Lordes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bodyswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 10:17:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2064273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lordes/pseuds/Lordes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GatewayGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GatewayGirl/gifts).



> Now also posted on my own page [HERE"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2140302)
> 
>  
> 
> **Trope: Bodyswap**
> 
> A/N: Dear gatewaygirl, this fic was originally supposed to be around 5k. As you can see, that didn’t exactly go according to plan. I tried my best to write something you’ll enjoy, and so I hope you will. 
> 
> Also, a big shoutout and thank you to my _amazing_ beta without whom this fic wouldn’t have been possible, and the mods for their everlasting patience and support.

*

_’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)_

_‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor_

  
**\- CHAPTER 1 -**  
Mysteries and Top Hats

Harry Potter was walking steadily through the crowded Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, and he was _not_ going to turn around. There were people bumping into him, staring at him and sometimes even pointing at him. As that was nothing he hadn’t got used to by now, he was able to ignore these people. The voice calling out his name at the moment, though, he could not ignore.

'Potter!' it repeated, and however much Harry wanted to pretend he wasn’t hearing it, he couldn’t. The was no chance he hadn’t heard it by now, nor the hasty and pertinent footsteps that just wouldn’t cease following him.

'What?!' Harry said finally, annoyed. He turned around to face the owner of the voice. 'What do you want, _Malfoy_?'

Draco Malfoy was standing right in front of Harry, all huge eyes and out of breath, his hair slightly sticking to the newly formed drops of sweat on his forehead. 

'You can’t… you can’t do this,' Malfoy breathed, clutching his side. 

Harry sighed once, deeply. 'I don’t have time for this,' he said and turned around to walk away, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by the words of a boy whom he might’ve hated more than Voldemort himself at one point in his life, yet whom he - time and time again - just couldn’t resist trying to help. 

'She saved your _life_ , Potter.' 

Harry sighed again in irritation, pinching the bridge of his nose between index finger and thumb. He didn’t move though, not yet. The problem was, this didn’t sound like the boy he had hated so much, nor like the spoiled little ferret he had always thought Malfoy to be. This was a boy - a man - who was pleading. However, he was pleading for people who might be his parents, but who had done nothing but create and spread ruin and despair through the whole of the wizarding world for decades. 

'She saved your life,' Malfoy repeated, calmer and softer this time, 'and this is how you’re going to repay her?' 

Harry turned back to face him, still annoyed and now also slightly despairing. Why couldn’t he walk through the Ministry _once_ without being accosted by one person or another?! 

'She might’ve saved my life,' he answered, scowling, 'but she was and still is a Death Eater, just like your father. And I’m not planning on letting _any_ of them, former or no, run free any longer.' 

Malfoy’s eyes went wide, and for a moment Harry was certain he was about to start crying. 

'Please.'

The word took Harry by surprise. He wasn’t sure if he had ever heard Malfoy utter anything like it, not even to a teacher.

'Don’t do this. Don’t take away the last thing I have left.' His voice sounded oddly broken. 'I know I’ve made mistakes Potter. I _know_. I _did_. But please don’t punish them for what _I’ve_ done. I only did it to save their lives...' 

'What you don’t seem to be getting, though,' Harry persisted, 'is that your parents made some serious mistakes all by themselves; they didn’t need your help for that.' A small cough made him turn to his left, and for the first time since their conversation had started, he looked around. They were starting to attract attention. People were looking at them, exchanging urgent whispers as they walked past or simply stopped to stare. One woman clad in a set of chestnut coloured robes - and the probable source of the cough - had even been so bold as to take out a notepad and quill. Harry wondered if she was a reporter or merely an overly curious bystander who thought she could earn some quick Galleons with a new and flashy story about what the ‘Saviour of the wizarding world’ was up to now. 

Malfoy, in the meantime, had one of his hands roughly tangled in his hair and was biting his lip hard as if to suppress either a scream or some very nasty words. 

'Right,' Harry continued uncomfortably, now very aware of the eyes and ears that were on them. 'If that’s all…' 

Once more he tried to turn around and continue his way up to the Minister’s office. This time, however, it wasn’t Draco Malfoy’s _words_ that stopped him. 

'Let go of my arm, Malfoy.' 

Harry glared and tried to pull free from Malfoy’s grasp. 'Get it back together,' Harry nearly hissed, 'and let. go. of. my. arm.' 

'Just don’t leave.' Malfoy sounded desperate now.

Harry pulled him closer in an attempt to keep the conversation at least somewhat private, not really caring if it was working or not. He was tired and all he really wanted to do right now was go home. People already stared at him too much for his liking without Malfoy’s behavior to add to that, and it was starting to get on his nerves. 

'Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I have no time nor energy to waste on this, so I’d really appreciate it if you just let me go and finish my business here.' 

' _My_ problem?' Malfoy angrily whispered back at him. 'You know what the Dark Lord was like -' Harry huffed loudly at the fact that Malfoy still wouldn’t use Voldemort’s name, making Draco pause briefly. 'Even if my parents had tried to leave the moment they realised what kind of a madman... _He_ was, they’d have ended up dead. All of us would have. And as far as I’m concerned, trying to stay alive during a war is _not_ a crime.' 

Harry’s nostrils flared at this. ' _Just_ trying to stay alive? Your father was a man who craved nothing but power, corrupting and threatening everybody who had anything of worth to him. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.' 

'Then charge him with that,' Malfoy answered, 'not for the murderer he is not.' 

Harry shook his head, taking a definite step back, roughly pulling his arm free from the tight grasp. 'I’m sorry, Draco, but I can’t help you.' 

'You know,' Draco said, looking rather forlorn in the middle of the huge Atrium, 'it’s not my fault you don’t know what it’s like to have a _real_ family.' 

Harry blinked, ready to step back towards Malfoy and punch him hard on the nose. Malfoy however, looked as if he’d turned into stone. Harry tried to turn his head to look around, but he felt as if he had fallen into a pool of very thick goo. His vision was clear, but everything seemed to appear… _slower_. Not only that, but not a mere ten feet away stood a gentleman, casually leaning against one of the huge pillars supporting the high ceiling of the Ministry’s entrance hall. He was wearing a big top hat, tipped so the shadow of it was covering his eyes and most of his face. A wicked grin showed underneath a somewhat slender but crooked nose. The man was tall, thin and pale. A black ponytail appeared to come out from under the hat, tied together by a single purple ribbon. Over all of this he was wearing an even darker purple overcoat and high purple trousers with a white shirt neatly tucked into them. Underneath these trousers were pointy shoes that shone so bright Harry wondered how much time it had taken the man to get them polished like that. 

Harry couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the man, who slowly grabbed the rim of the hat, lifted it up, and gave Harry a single wink. 

By the time Harry blinked, he man was gone, and everything seemed to be back at the same speed it had been at before. More curious even, nobody else seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. 

Harry blinked a couple more times, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. The pillar the man had been leaning against was still there, but the only thing around it were the people rushing past it in a hurry. Had he been dreaming? Who had that man been? 

'Potter? Potter!... Harry!' 

Harry turned back towards him. The desperate look in Malfoy’s eyes had been replaced by a somewhat worried one, and from the tone of his voice Harry could only assume that he’d been out of the conversation for a while. 

As he was about to ask Malfoy what he had said, however, he got hit by a wave of pure nausea and an unexplainable amount of nerves rushing through his body, making him feel vertigo and sweaty. 

'I’m sorry,' he mumbled, and before Draco had had a chance to reply, he turned a final time and hastily walked away.

*

When Harry entered the new Minister’s office a couple of minutes later, the man in question shot up out of his chair the moment his eyes met Harry’s.

'Harry! You look like you’ve seen a Dementor, what’s wrong?' the deep voice said. Halfway through rounding the desk he had been sitting behind, Harry put up his hand in order to stop him. 

'It’s fine, Kingsley,' Harry said, trying to swallow back the bile. 'I’m... fine.' 

The Minister let out a soft sigh and raised a single eyebrow at him. 'If you’re sure…'

Harry gave him a small smile and sat down in one of the comfortable chairs facing the desk. The Minister’s office was bright, the large enchanted window on the far wall showing nothing but sunshine and blue sky. He took a deep breath. The man with the top hat would be something to investigate later, not something he was going to be worrying about now. 'Yes, I’m sure.' 

Kingsley gave him one more stern look before sitting back down. 

'Very well,' he said before picking up a stack of papers and tapping them twice hard on his desk to straighten the pile; then he laid it back down and handed the topmost file to Harry. 'As you can see the Malfoy case has been moved forward a few weeks, among several other cases per request of the Wizengamot.' 

Harry nodded, immediately reminded of the rather unwanted conversation he had just had with Draco Malfoy. 

Kingsley picked up his quill and quickly scribbled something on the identical file in front of him. 'The Aurors present during the investigation, interrogation and arrest of these…' Kingsley seemed to be struggling with the word, 'people,' he continued, 'are required to be present at the trial.' 

Harry nodded again. It was nothing he didn’t know, so the information didn’t surprise him. Aurors were often called in as witnesses during trials, especially important ones like these. 

'What are the prospects?' Harry asked, still studying the file intently. There were several familiar names on it Harry couldn’t wait to see safely locked up behind Azkaban bars. Some of them he’d personally made sure would probably never see the outside wizarding world again. 

'Life sentence, probably,' Kingsley answered. 'With what they’re charged with, they’re lucky we no longer employ any Dementors.' 

Harry nodded approvingly. No matter how much he was against the vile creatures or the punishment they brought, he sometimes wished - just for those rare few - that they were still around to do what they did best. 

However, as he thought of them - their rotting breath and long black hoods underneath which that gaping hole was hidden - another wave of nausea hit him. He had to cover his mouth with both hands, letting the file drop onto the ground, and leaned forward - head first - in between his knees. 

When he got his nausea under control, he carefully let go of his mouth one hand at a time and picked up the file from where it had fallen onto the ground. 'If you don’t mind,' Harry said, holding it up while slowly getting up himself, 'I’ll look these over at home.' He gave the small stack of papers a quick wave. 

Kingsley merely nodded, once more straightening his own stack. 'As it so happens, I’ve had quite a long day myself,' he said, smiling. 'Go take some time for yourself, and I’ll see you in the morning.'

*

When Harry exited the Ministry of Magic, not having run into any more blonds on his way out, he took a deep breath. He scrunched his eyes closed as hard as he could and just stood there for a while, file still in one hand, listening to the bustling sounds of London around him. He felt much better already and therefore he decided that he’d pay a visit to Ron and Hermione, who he knew were currently having an after-work drink at the Leaky Cauldron.

'Heya, Harry!,' he heard the moment he entered the dimly lit pub. As he looked around, he saw Ron and Hermione in one of the few booths the Leaky Cauldron provided, both with half-full glasses in front of them. Ron was happily waving him over. 

'Had a few, then?' Harry said, grinning widely. Ron had that typical ‘after-work’ smile on his face, and Hermione’s cheeks were already tinted with a soft pink.

'Mate,' Ron said as he sloppily swung his arm around Harry’s shoulders, 'you don’t even know.' 

Harry felt better already. All the stress of the day, including the odd conversation with Malfoy and the weird waves of nausea, disappeared like Dementors in the face of a Patronus. 

'It’s not _so_ bad,' Hermione chimed in. She picked up her glass and took another sip of the amber-coloured liquid. 'Anyway,' she continued, 'I’ve got some rather exciting news!' 

But before Hermione could start telling Harry what the exciting news was, Ron had already jumped in and had started telling his own story. 

'Did you know,' he said as he patted Harry on the arm twice, his own still around Harry’s shoulders. Hermione raised a single eyebrow at Ron, who didn’t seem to notice, then gave a soft giggle into her glass before shaking her head. Harry grinned at his two best friends. He’d missed this. With him and Ron being Aurors now, and Hermione working part-time in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and taking part-time classes at Hogwarts, moments like these were rare. 

'... just kept running too, as if he actually thought he would be able to escape six fully trained Aurors!' 

'Who are we talking about?' Harry asked. He had realised this wasn’t one of the same couple of stories Ron seemed to repeat full-heartedly whenever he’d had too much to drink, but a new one. 

Ron waved his hand dismissively. 'Someone called Pingwiggulus or something,' he said. 'I don’t really remember. Point _is_ , though,' he pointed his finger at Hermione, so as to emphasise this fact, 'that we caught him.' 

'What did he do, then?' Harry asked as he waved Tom over. 

'Mister Potter,' the elderly man said as he reached the table, 'what can I get for you today?' But before Harry could answer him, Tom had already continued speaking. 'You know, we were just talking about you.' His voice turned softer, and Harry had to strain his ears to be able to understand him above all of the cheerful laughing and conversations around them. 'And about them caught Death Eaters.' His eyes twinkled hopefully. 

Harry sighed. If there was one thing he disliked about his position as an Auror at all, it would have to be this. 'Tom,' he started, searching for the right words. However, Hermione seemed to have found them faster. 

'We can’t discuss Ministry matters outside of work, Tom, we’re sorry.' She smiled kindly at him. 

Tom’s face seemed to turn into stone, and for a moment Harry thought he’d be seeing the strange man with the top hat appear again at any moment. Time didn’t slow down this time though, nor did Tom. He took out his notepad and small quill and said, 'The usual, then?' before scribbling something down and shuffling away, back towards the bar. 

'What’s got into him?' Ron asked, slightly taken aback. 

'You can’t really blame him,' Hermione answered. 'It’s only been a few months, after all.' She didn’t need to elaborate on what had been only a few months. They all knew. 'And it’s not like the Daily Prophet is giving them much, either,' she continued, and when she saw Ron open his mouth, quickly added, 'Yes, they give them lists of captured Death Eaters, but what good does that do them? There are still plenty more at large than there are behind bars.' 

They all fell into a rather mournful silence. Hermione was right, there _were_ still a lot of Death Eaters out there, and even though most people had resumed their normal lives after Voldemort’s demise, the air of worry and danger still hung over the wizarding world like a thick layer of Dementor mist. Most people still did their shopping in groups, and the shops that were open in Diagon Alley opened late and closed early. Harry sighed and nodded a thank you to Tom when he came back, bringing Harry’s drink. Harry took a large swig from the heavy mug, the meade slowly warming his insides. 

'As I was saying, though,' Hermione said, breaking the silence, 'I’ve got news.' 

'Right!' Harry said, snapping out of his gloomy train of thought. He sat up a little straighter and looked over at Ron, who seemed to do his best to look everywhere but at Hermione, who didn’t seem to notice or else chose to ignore him. 

'Remember the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare?' she asked hopefully. Ron groaned softly behind his glass and Harry quickly bit his tongue. Of course he remembered S.P.E.W. It had been Hermione’s almost full-time obsession during their later Hogwarts years. 

'Well,' she continued, ignoring the obvious silence, 'the Department of Regulation and Control for Magical Creatures have been looking over the idea and they agreed it could very well be worthy of investment!' 

'They don’t want to be set free, Hermione!' Ron butted in, sounding slightly exhausted. 

'Well, maybe they’d at least like to be given the choice, Ronald,' she said coldly and turned back towards Harry. 'And the Department seemed very interested after all.' She raised her chin defiantly as if to dare Harry to disagree with her. 

'That’s probably only because they got tired of your constant nagging,' Ron mumbled softly enough for Hermione not to hear. Harry bit his tongue to hold back his laugh. 

'Anyway, Hermione,' Harry said finally, 'congratulations. It sounds fantastic!' 

For a moment he worried that the enthusiasm in his voice might’ve sounded fake, but when Hermione smiled happily back at him, he pushed that feeling away, too. 

She raised her glass. 'To S.P.E.W,' she said with a wink, making Harry grin. This was probably the first time he had heard Hermione use the formerly disliked abbreviation. He raised his own mug and gave Ron a small prod with his elbow, who in his turn also raised his glass. 'To S.P.E.W,' he repeated after Hermione, and for a moment he could swear he saw a small smile play on Ron’s lips.

*

After many hours of catching up, the topic once again returned to the Ministry of Magic and the upcoming trials.

'I forgot to tell you,' Harry said as he put aside another empty mug, 'I ran into Malfoy today. Or rather, he ran into me.' 

'What, _junior_?!' Ron asked, sounding almost surprised. 'What was he doing inside the Ministry?' 

'What was he doing out at all, is the question,' Hermione added. 'Wasn’t he supposed to be on Ministry orders to stay inside?' She looked from Harry to Ron and back. 

Harry’s jaw dropped slightly - he hadn’t even thought of that - maybe that’s why Malfoy had appeared so scared and sweaty. 

'It must’ve been really important to talk to you, then, risking what he did,' she said, more to herself than to them. 'What did he want?' 

Harry rubbed his hands over his tired face before answering. 'I think he came asking me to clear his dad, or at least drop part of the charges.' 

'You just _think_?' Ron asked.

'Well, yeah,' Harry said. 'I mean, that’s what he asked, but then something else really weird happened…' 

As the Leaky Cauldron slowly emptied around them, Harry told them the story of the man with the top hat. By the time he’d finished, the only people still inside with them were an elderly couple in the corner, a rather large group of very loud men and women at the centre table, and a cloaked individual hastily scribbling on a piece of parchment in the far corner of the room, a smoking mug of unidentifiable liquid next to him.

Hermione hummed softly, obviously deep in thought. 

'Maybe,' Ron offered, 'maybe you just imagined the time slowing down. You said you weren’t feeling well.' 

'I didn’t start feeling unwell until _after_ ,' Harry said and looked expectantly at Hermione, who shook her head. 

'Sorry,' she said, 'but I’ve got no idea. No book or scroll I’ve read ever mentioned anything like it. At least as far as I can remember.' She paused. 'And please don’t get angry, Harry, but maybe Ron’s right - you did say you weren’t feeling well…' 

'That was _after_ , I already told you!' Harry said, slowly getting annoyed. Why wouldn’t they believe him? It wasn’t as if he was telling them something completely illogical, right? 

'You said you didn’t get hit with the nausea until after, that’s true,' she answered carefully, 'but maybe it was already building up?' 

'Wait,' Ron interrupted abruptly, looking oddly pale in the yellowish light of the pub. 'You don’t think this is another sign of…' his voice dropped into a whisper, 'of You-Know-Who being back?' He looked at Harry with wide eyes. 

'Yeah,' Harry stretched his back, took some Galleons out of his pocket and put them onto the table, getting up. 'You officially had too much to drink.' 

'I did not!' Ron said, but he was swaying slightly as he got up himself, and giggled. 

Hermione smiled at him before she yawned and stood as well. 'It’s getting late, I should probably get back myself.' 

'Are you staying at Hogwarts tonight?' Harry asked as he pulled on his cloak. 

Hermione nodded. 'I actually have some morning classes tomorrow. Arithmancy and History of Magic.' 

'Sounds _brilliant_ ,' Ron said sarcastically, fumbling with his own cloak. 

Hermione walked over to the other side of the table to help him out. She pulled one of the cloak’s sleeves back from its inside-out state. 'It’s not _that_ bad. It’s mostly just weird, being in the same year as Luna now.' 

'Well, I’m just saying I’m glad I’m working as an Auror now, that’s all,' Ron slurred. 

Hermione ignored him, but continued to help him with his cloak before turning towards Harry. 'Where will you be staying tonight?'

He shrugged, not answering the question they both already knew the answer to. Right after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had gone back to Grimmauld Place, initially just to stay there for a couple of nights to get his head back together while the wizarding world awoke from its Dark Magic-induced coma. However, instead of leaving the place again to stay at the Burrow - as Mrs Weasley had so often proposed - he’d stayed. 

'Oh, Harry, why do you insist on going back to that place?' Hermione asked softly. 'You know you hate it, and the Order doesn’t need it anymore. Just sell it, get yourself a nice flat somewhere in London if that’s where you want to be… Or don’t,' she added as she heard him huff, assuming wrongly that he did so because he was thinking about his funds. 'You have enough gold to last you a lifetime, anyway.' 

Ron, now fully dressed and in an attempt to lighten the conversation, added, 'And that’s why he’s paying for the drinks tonight, aren’t you Harry?' He smiled a somewhat lopsided grin, making Harry laugh quietly. 

'Well, I really ought to get going,' Hermione said finally. She walked over and gave Harry a tight hug and a peck on the cheek. 'Take care,' she whispered before going back to Ron, whom she also gave a quick kiss, although on a different place. While Ron’s head turned as red as his hair, Hermione made her way over to the fireplace, grabbed some Floo powder, and disappeared into the green flames before Ron had even fully processed what had just happened.

*

When he got home, Harry took another good look around himself. The house really _was_ dreary. He hadn’t bothered doing anything about the now peeling wallpaper, the still stuck and covered portrait of Mrs Black, nor had he bothered to ask Kreacher, who usually kept himself busy enough with the cooking and basic cleaning.

Halfway up the stairs and in a heated battle with his too tightly done tie, he realised how fed up he really was with the day. He was annoyed, and not just a little bit. Annoyed at Malfoy for attracting attention to him _again_ today, annoyed that tomorrow there was bound to be something about it in the Prophet, annoyed that he didn’t understand who that man in the top hat had been, annoyed because he actually let it bug him, and annoyed that Hermione simply wouldn’t give his living at Grimmauld Place a rest. Remembering his reaction at the beginning of his sixth year, when Dumbledore had announced that Grimmauld Place was to be his, he stopped, already halfway up the stairs. He hadn’t wanted the house back then. Hell, he would’ve given anything not to have to return to this place. But now… He sighed and let his back - careful enough not to wake Mrs Black - fall back against the wall. Now it seemed like an almost hurtful reminder of all the people he’d lost; Sirius, Remus and Tonks, Dumbledore, and even Snape’s ghost seemed to reside here. 

Giving up on the tie, he took out his wand, pointed it at the blasted thing and, by giving it a quick swish, had the tie severed in his hand within seconds. As he continued his way up, he dropped it and started working on his shirt next. By the time he’d reached the topmost step and had entered his bedroom, the stairs were littered with pieces of clothing. 

Still half-dressed, he let himself slump on the bed, falling asleep immediately.

  
**\- CHAPTER 2 -**  
An Unwelcome Awakening

Something was off.

A soft breeze flowed through his hair, and as he moved, a pillow far softer than the one he had got used to over the past year at Grimmauld Place moved under his cheek. Harry opened his eyes and blinked heavily against the bright morning sun. A morning sun coming from a window on a side of the room where no window should be. A window which was in a room far bigger than the one he _should_ have woken up in. As he reached out for his glasses, he found nothing but more soft pillows and heavy covers. He rubbed his eyes hard and blinked again a few times. Everything was so clear. So perfectly clear and crisp and bright and _visible_. He let out a soft gasp and raised a hand in front of his face. Waving it back and forth, he smiled at the clear image . However, his smile soon turned into a scowl when he realised that he was seeing not his own, but a far slimmer, far paler hand move in front of his eyes. Sitting up in the king-sized bed, he took a good look around himself. The room was large and round. The bed he had woken up in was facing a ceiling-high, wooden double-door. On the left of this door stood a low table on which a very heavy-looking vase was resting, containing a bouquet of the most beautiful and exotic flowers he’d ever seen. On both sides of the bed were a set of bedside tables and - just like the double door - ceiling-high windows. In front of these windows hung thick, golden-brown curtains that flowed in an arch back halfway to the floor where they were gathered by a black strap to the wall. Harry had no memory of ever being in a room like this, nor coming to one the night before. Harry got out of the bed, carefully, even though he wasn’t sure what he was being careful of, and walked around the room in search for his wand. The bedside tables were empty save for a few books he didn’t recognise, and since his clothes were nowhere to be seen save for the unfamiliar pyjama bottoms he was wearing, he had no idea where his wand could be. He swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump now forming in his throat. Where was he? He moved towards the bedroom doors, still eyeing the room around him cautiously as if somebody were about to jump out and attack him. 

When he was about to open one of the heavy looking doors, his heart almost stopped ,and for a moment, he didn’t dare turn his head properly. The low table he’d spotted from the bed contained not only the vase and flowers, but also a small pedestal on which a single wand was lying. However, as familiar as this wand was to him, it was not his. Not anymore. 

Slowly he reached out for it, his fingers resting momentarily just an inch above the dark wood before his hand closed around the handle. The familiar tingle of wand finding owner soared through his body, leaving his toes and fingers tingling in the afterglow. A shaky breath escaped him as he pointed the wand at the small table. He gave it a quick swish and flick and even though he had expected it, his heart still skipped a beat in surprise when it actually floated upward somewhat. Lowering the table back towards the ground - the vase and flowers shaking a bit with the movement - his eyes rested once more upon the pale and slender hand holding the wand that wasn’t supposed to be his, but felt and obeyed him as if it were. As if he’d never returned it to its rightful owner. As if he’d never sent it back to Draco Malfoy. 

Heart beating fast, he took another good look around the room, the wand still clutched tightly in his hand. He raised his free one towards his face and gently touched it, before letting it move through the too-soft strands of hair. Extracting a single one, he held it up close to his face, examining it: blond. With his heartbeat now very present in the back of his throat, he looked around for a mirror, already knowing he wouldn’t be finding one inside the room. He turned and pushed open the door, exiting and looking around. He was in a hallway now, facing a wall going up into an arched ceiling. Taking what he hoped would be a lucky guess, he turned left and started walking, trying one random door after another, finding nothing but what looked like guestrooms, empty chambers or locked ways.

'Finally,' he mumbled as he turned another corner, the somewhat familiar voice unsettling him. He spotted what looked like the side of a large frame containing an equally large mirror against the right wall of the passage he was now walking through, and moved towards it. 

Reaching his destination in three quick strides he stopped right before he entered the mirror’s direct reflection, doubting, not sure he would be willing to accept what he would see. 

He turned and looked back the way he came. Cursing under his breath and deciding he hadn’t saved the world by waiting or running, he scrunched his eyes closed and stepped in front of the polished metal. 

Harry balled his free hand tightly into a fist, his fingernails digging into soft skin, and forced himself to open at least one of his eyes. 

He didn’t move as the realisation of the situation slowly sank in, nor was he sure he was still breathing. He tried to swallow, but failed, his mouth too dry to produce any more saliva. He knew he had expected something of the sort, but the confirmation of what had actually happened to him was, for a moment or so, too much to process. Approaching the mirror further, he touched the cold glass with his fingertips, watching Draco Malfoy’s reflection do the same. 

'No,' he heard and saw himself whisper as his eyes, _Malfoy’s_ eyes, found the Malfoy in the mirror. 'No…'

He pinched himself once, hard. Wincing, he rubbed the now sore spot and once more cursed under his breath. A soft blush crept up into his cheeks when he heard himself in the unaccustomed accent. He sighed deeply before taking another quick glance in the mirror and deciding it was time for a shower. If he could find one…

*

Harry didn’t know if it took him fifteen minutes, half an hour, or an hour, but when he finally entered the bathroom he couldn’t believe his eyes. As if the Manor - where he figured by now he must be - was trying to outdo itself, this room appeared even bigger than any of the other rooms he had encountered so far on his trip through the mansion. The floor, walls and ceiling appeared to be made out of one piece of brilliant cream-coloured marble, a tub as big as a small swimming pool gleamed golden in the middle of it all, with at least a dozen or so taps around its edges. Exotic plants like the flowers he’d seen in Malfoy’s room adorned every corner of the bathroom, and if that wasn’t enough, a beam of bright sunlight shone in through a single ceiling window, giving the whole room an even more magical glow than it already had.

He approached the tub, discarding his pyjama bottoms while doing so, and noticed there wasn’t anything to turn the many tabs on with. 

'Er,' he said to the empty room and, not sure what to do, pointed his… _Malfoy’s_ wand at one of them. He looked over his shoulder as if to make sure nobody could hear him. 'Water,' he tried, and when that didn’t immediately yield a result, he added, ‘please.’

One of the golden taps immediately started spouting water, however, no steam seemed to come off it. Curious Harry moved closer and upon holding his hand underneath the stream he found the water to be cold as ice. 

‘So, no warm water then,’ he said, slightly annoyed. To his surprise, the first tap stopped, while another one opened, this time releasing a steaming hot stream. 

Harry frowned and looked from the now flowing tap to the wand in his hand and back. He hadn’t raised it and was now wondering… Leaving the wand on the edge of the tub, he stepped into the water. Warmth engulfed him and he closed his eyes, relishing the moment. As the tub filled itself all the way to the rim, Harry let himself go down under the surface. When he came back up he wondered, just fleetingly, about bath soap. He hadn’t even finished the thought when another couple of taps turned on, this time erupting in nothing but bubbles, foam and musky scents. The whole bathroom reminded him somewhat of the Prefects’ bathroom at Hogwarts, except this was a lot nicer as there was no Moaning Myrtle around to come peeking at him, nor the pressure of an egg he needed to figure out. 

After being thoroughly soaked and wrinkled, he stepped out of the tub, looking around for something to dry himself with. However, as he did so, a nice and warm wind started blowing and before he knew it he was completely dry. Wondering about the mysterious magic at work, he spotted a bathrobe hanging on a peg against one of the walls. The fabric was as soft as anything he’d ever felt, and for a moment a tinge of jealousy took over as he realised that this was where Malfoy had grown up. Putting the thought away quickly, he tightened the robe around himself and prayed that he’d be able to find the room he’d woken up in earlier that morning, because he was in desperate need of something to wear.

*

Once fully dressed, Harry attempted to make his way downstairs, which proved to be a lot easier than finding a proper mirror or bathroom in the maze the Malfoys called a home. At least, that’s what he thought. Now that he didn’t seem to need one anymore, mirrors appeared everywhere around the many corridors and rooms. Relatively fed up with the place, he descended another one of the stone staircases found throughout the house, hoping he was somewhat closer to the entrance than when he’d started. He was planning on paying himself, or at least his body, a visit as fast as he could. Rummaging through Malfoy’s many possible outfits and hair products, he’d realised that if he had been put in Malfoy’s body, then Malfoy would’ve surely been put into his... something he would rather not think about.

As he turned another corner, he imagined it would probably be smart to get a hold of Ron, Hermione, Kingsley and the Order as fast as he could, and made a mental note to stop by either one of them on his way back from Grimmauld Place. He paused briefly as a soft and pleasant sounding chiming rang through the house, followed by a very heavy door opening and muffled voices. He must really be close to the entrance then, he thought, and was about to quicken his step when he heard the clearing of a throat. 

‘Mr Malfoy is requested in the drawing room.’ 

A man, which Harry could only assume to be some sort of a wizarding butler, was standing in front of him, clad in deep grey robes with a white shirt, the collar popped up high and held together with a single, slim, black tie that disappeared back behind a silver clasp and into his robes. 

Harry hesitated a moment before answering, uncertain what to say or what to do, the sudden realisation hitting him that Malfoy probably had some kind of etiquette with which he would treat his… servants? The word sounded odd to Harry’s own thoughts. 

‘I…,’ he started before hesitating again. ‘I’ll be there shortly, thanks.’ The last word had escaped him before he had been able to stop himself. 

The man raised and dropped his eyebrows so quickly, Harry was sure he’d imagined it. 

‘Very well, then,’ the man said before giving a curt bow and moving back down the stairs he’d come up. 

Having no idea where he could find the drawing room, Harry followed the man down until - at last - he found himself in what looked like the entrance hall. As he’d only been in the Manor once before, the odd feeling of déjà-vu that hit him once he had descended the last stone step was almost overwhelming. Shivering, he tried to shake off the wary feeling as he followed a set of voices into the nearest room. 

The sight that welcomed him was something that made him want to turn around and walk back out as fast as he’d entered. There were two people waiting for him, both situated on one of the many pieces of furniture in the room. They were both very familiar to Harry, clad in full Auror robes, and completely expected to be present, as they were there upon Ministry procedure.

‘Ah, Mr Malfoy,’ the first one, an Auror named Zanna - a slim woman with a long neck and auburn hair cut in a short bob - said, ‘a true pleasure you could join us.’ 

The second one, a Hit-Wizard and Zanna’s assistant, smiled almost maniacally. Harry knew that both of them shared, like many of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards within the Ministry of Magic, a great dislike for the Malfoys. Especially because Narcissa Malfoy and Draco Malfoy still walked free, mostly because of him. 

‘Why don’t you take a seat?’ Zanna offered. Realising he hadn’t moved since his eyes had fallen upon his colleagues, Harry moved to the sofa opposite the pair and, rather uncomfortably, sat down. 

‘Very well,’ she continued and took a slim paper scroll out from the inside pocket of her robes. ‘As you might have guessed, we are here today concerning your father’s upcoming trial.’ She let the words linger in the air for a moment, her stare so piercing it felt as if she were waiting for a reaction. 

‘Right,’ Harry said nervously and cleared his throat. ‘Would you err… like something to drink?’ 

Not entirely certain where exactly he’d be able to get said drinks, he rose, but Zanna interrupted him. 

‘That won’t be necessary. We don’t intend to take long.’ 

Good, Harry thought, feeling slightly better. The less chance of suspicious behavior from Malfoy’s side, the better his chances at reaching Grimmauld Place. 

Zanna slowly unrolled the scroll and cleared her throat. ‘A mutual decision has been reached between the Minister for Magic, in this case Minister Shacklebolt, and the Wizengamot, to move the trial of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy forward with… Mr Malfoy, are you sure you are all right?’ 

Zanna and Maurice, the Hit-Wizard, were both eying him curiously now. Harry however, didn’t seem to notice. A sudden realisation had hit him, and he was staring wide-eyed at the wall behind the two Ministry’s officials. 

‘I’m not allowed to leave the house.’ His voice was almost inaudible, even to himself. 

‘What was that?’ Zanna asked him. 

Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat and forced his gaze away from the spot on the wall he’d been focusing upon.

‘I...’ he started, but stopped. What was he going to say? Malfoy knew he wasn’t allowed out, and he’d already broken the rules the day before. To only come to terms with his punishment now would not only be strange, but also very suspicious.

‘No, er...’ he said and quickly shook his head. ‘Sorry, I was… yeah. Please continue.’ 

Zanna gave him a single look over before slowly redirecting her concentration back to the scroll. 

‘As I was saying,’ she continued, ‘the trial of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy will be moved forward roughly -’ 

Since he’d heard all of this before, having discussed it with Kingsley just yesterday, Harry let his thoughts roam for a moment. If he wasn’t allowed to leave the house, how was he supposed to reach Ron and Hermione, and more importantly even, how was he supposed to reach himself? He didn’t like to admit it, but the power Malfoy would have at the Ministry being Harry Potter… Harry refused to think about the possible consequences a vengeful Draco Malfoy set loose on the Ministry could bring. 

When he heard the scroll being rolled back up, his attention snapped back to the conversation. 

‘Now,’ Zanna spoke once more, ‘we would like another word with your mother.’ 

‘My mother?’ Harry croaked. The words sounded strange coming from him, and not only because they were being uttered in a voice not his own. 

‘The one and only.’ Zanna now sounded almost sarcastic. 

‘She is otherwise engaged at the moment.’ It had been the only thing Harry had been able to think of to say. Where exactly was Malfoy’s mother? He’d hardly been able to find his own bedroom, never mind hers, or any other unknown or unexplored room at that. 

Maurice grunted as Zanna raised her eyebrows so disbelievingly it would’ve made Malfoy himself jealous. 

‘Otherwise engaged?’ she repeated cynically. 

‘Yes,’ and thinking quickly, he added, ‘but thank you for stopping by, it was most enlightening.’ Showing what he hoped would be one of Malfoy’s more charming smiles, he got up, a not so subtle hint that the conversation was now over. 

Not being used to this kind of treatment, Zanna’s nostrils flared dangerously, and for a moment Harry thought he saw her wand hand twitch in anticipation. Harry had heard before that even during her Auror training, Zanna had had problems controlling her temper, and he wondered if this was the moment he’d actually witness it first hand. 

As no wand was drawn, though, Harry released a shaky breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, feeling the tension hang in the air. 

‘Very well,’ she said as she got up, Maurice following her movement. 

She made her way across the room towards the door but stopped before exiting, looking back over her shoulder. 

‘I’d like you to know, however, Mr _Malfoy_ ,’ she said, nearly spitting out the name this time, ‘that you disobeyed restriction 11B of the disciplinary conditions the Wizengamot have set you.’ She paused. ‘Next time we’re getting notified of your disobedience, don’t expect us to be so… tolerable.’ And with that she turned away a final time and stalked out of the room.

*

After having paced the room for roughly an hour after his two colleagues had departed, Harry decided he would leave the Manor and pay a visit to his own body one way or another. He just had to figure out how to do it. If only there were a way he could reach Kingsley and explain the situation…

 _Of course!_ he thought after another moment. Something had just dawned on him. The way the wards worked was through constant detection of the magic of the two of them; his and Mrs Malfoy’s. If he could just make sure his magic was still present at the Manor while he was gone… 

He stopped mid-pace. But if he had, as Zanna had put it, disobeyed restriction 11B then why hadn’t they come running after Malfoy the moment they’d noticed him Apparate away from the Manor in search for Harry? 

‘They didn’t notice.’ 

‘What didn’t they notice, dear?’ the big portrait above the mantelpiece asked him. Harry looked up and saw he was staring straight into the grey eyes of what must be a female member of Lucius’ side of the family. Her skin was pale and her eyes and hair so light they looked almost like a mixture between liquid silver and liquid gold. Her posture was straight and rigid as she was sitting in the portrait’s chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap, resting upon a very heavy, old and expensive-looking olive-coloured dress. He gave her an awkward smile as she pursed her lips at him, apparently not appreciating being ignored. 

Harry had no time to think about that now, though. Zanna had been bluffing, or so he hoped, and as long as the Ministry wouldn’t get an alert of anybody walking through the wards or Disapparating within the house… and surely, with so many house-elves around... 

He looked quickly around the room. There, on the table, were two round glasses and a bottle of amber coloured liquid. Those won’t do, he thought almost absentmindedly as he started rummaging through an almost antique-looking cabinet. He extracted a book at random, pointed his wand at it and prayed to anybody who might be willing to listen that he wouldn’t mess up the spell.

*

He’d been afraid for a moment he wouldn’t be able to see Grimmauld Place, being stuck in the body of Draco Malfoy, but once the weird sensation of using a Portkey had subsided and he’d raised his eyes to see the old and battered-down front door of the place, he let out a long and shaky breath. Picking up the book from the wet grass of the park across the street, he started walking, hoping that Malfoy and his body were still safely at home.

He needn’t have worried. The moment he approached the door, it opened, and a very familiar arm shot out and roughly dragged him inside. 

As he was slammed against the wall, he noted the deep black circles under his own eyes and decided that - once this whole ordeal was figured out and over- he would definitely be needing to get more sleep from that moment on. 

‘I don’t know _what_ it is you did,’ Draco spat at him in an angry hiss, ‘but you better undo it right this instant!’ He was breathing heavily, some spit escaping his mouth with each ragged exhalation.

Harry threw a nervous glance at the luckily still-covered portrait of Mrs Black on the wall. ‘What _I_ did?!’ he whispered. ‘I didn’t do anything, you dimwitted prat.’ But before he continued, he wrenched himself loose from Malfoy’s grip and stalked passed the portrait and into the kitchen, closing the door behind them when Malfoy had followed him inside. 

Both men stood there for a while, angrily staring at each other and at themselves. In the end it was Harry who broke the silence. ‘So that’s what you’re trying to do, then, blame it on me so you’ll look all innocent? Well I’m not buying any of it, Malfoy.’ 

‘Very funny,’ Malfoy retorted and sneered, something that just didn’t seem as effective as it would’ve been on his own face. 

‘Funny? Hardly,’ Harry said. ‘You do realise you were seen yesterday, right? Zanna… Two officials from the Ministry came by your house earlier today to tell me that if they noticed me out of the house again, I’d be in serious trouble.’ 

He had to admit that it hadn’t been _exactly_ what Zanna had said, but being “less tolerable” couldn’t be anything _good_ either. And wouldn’t it just be perfect for Malfoy to have him locked away…

‘It seems you have as much respect for the rules as you had in school, then,’ said Malfoy. ‘One would think the _Saviour of the wizarding world_ ,’ the words were spoken with as much disdain as he had ever heard anybody else say them, and that included Snape, ‘would be a little more… careful. What would the public think if they found out about this, for example?’ 

Harry nearly growled. How could he have ever felt even remotely sorry for the blond git? ‘Is that a threat, _Malfoy_?’ 

‘It might just well be,’ Malfoy said, eyes twinkling dangerously. 

Harry whipped out his wand so fast that Malfoy took a few steps back in surprise. ‘As it happens,’ Harry said, anger rising in his chest, ‘I don’t take lightly to threats.’ He paused, considering the many spells he could possibly use on Malfoy to make him talk. 

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ Malfoy said. His voice croaked a little but the determination in his eyes was visible. When Harry saw Malfoy’s wand hand twitch, he raised his own just a little higher, pointing it straight at the spot between Malfoy’s… or well, his own eyes. 

‘And why not?’ Harry wanted to know, trying to sound threatening but, still unused to the voice and the accent, not sure if he’d completely managed to pull it off. 

Malfoy exhaled sharply. ‘I might just make a little trip to the Ministry, then,’ he said. ‘See what power lies in the hands of the famous Harry Potter. What would Kingsley think if I issued the release of my father, for example?’

‘You wouldn’t...’ The wand Harry was still pointing firmly at Malfoy’s eyes faltered slightly. 

‘Oh, I would,’ Malfoy assured him. An almost mad grin appeared on his face, something that did not suit him at all, Harry thought. 

‘You know that would be suspicious. I’d never do anything like it,’ Harry said, ‘and if I tell Kingsley what’s happened...’ 

‘That’s what I thought, too, initially, when I woke up and saw your face instead of mine in one of the mirrors of this godforsaken place, but now that I think about it… would they _really_ dare question the almighty opinion of the Saviour?’ Malfoy took a step forward, until the wand pointed at him nearly touched his forehead. ‘After all, my mother and I are still walking free, even though I’m sure most of the Ministry would like to see us locked up as fast and as far away as possible.’ 

‘Well, then, I think it is time for me to have a little chat with your mum, don’t you think?’ 

Instantly the grin that had previously contorted Malfoy’s face so unpleasantly disappeared. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he whispered. 

‘Why’s that?’ Harry asked, knowing he’d hit a sore spot and intending on abusing it as much as he could. He wanted a reaction from Malfoy, he wanted him to talk, to spill what he’d done to them. And if this was the way to do it... ‘Not so keen on having me talk to your dear mother?’ It was his time to grin now, but unlike Malfoy’s almost mad one, his was more of a smirk. 

‘Don’t you _dare_ involve her in this, Potter!’ Malfoy spat at him, nostrils flared. He summoned his wand from beneath the robes he was wearing and pointed it back at Harry. 

‘Try me,’ Harry said, smirk still firmly in place. 

‘Get out.’ Once more, Malfoy’s voice returned to a mere whisper, but instead of angry he looked oddly emotionless, like the calm before the storm. 

‘You can’t throw me out of my own house, you -’

‘I said, GET OUT!’ 

The blast was so strong Harry was thrown backwards through the kitchen, hallway and front door where he rolled off the stone steps and into the street. Groaning, he looked up to see a very white-faced Harry Potter stare back at him from the doorframe, wide-eyed and wand at his side, before he turned back around and slammed the door shut with a hard blow, muting the sounds of an absolutely enraged Mrs Black. 

Still on all fours, Harry let his head hang for a second before trying to get up. Another groan escaped him as a nasty stinging in his side almost made him fall over again. He had expected a lot of things, but not this. Where had Malfoy learned to blast people away like that, anyway? 

Carefully getting up, he looked around himself. He blinked, and almost straight away, something strange happened. As his head turned, it felt as if he had once more stepped into a thick-feeling substance. His mind seemed to buzz at the same speed it always had, but his body refused to move with him. When his eyes fell on a tree at the entrance of the park facing number twelve Grimmauld Place, he noticed the man standing there. Purple trousers and coat, white shirt tucked into it and the most polished, pointy shoes he’d ever seen. Slowly, the man raised the rim of his high top hat, just like he’d done last time, and, pursing his lips at Harry, waggled a single finger at him. Harry could almost hear the tutting sounds the man must be making. 

He tried to open his mouth to say something, tried to move forward, even tried to raise his wand, but his body simply wouldn’t obey him. Feeling his eyelids slowly close again, he screamed in his mind, frustrated to boiling point. 

Still in the middle of trying to move forward, he stumbled and nearly fell flat on his face when time seemed to speed back up again. Barely catching himself from hitting the ground, he stood up straight and looked around, straining to keep his eyes open. The man was gone.

*

So Malfoy was afraid he’d hurt his mother then, Harry thought as he slowly made his way back up one of the Manor’s bigger stairways. His first instinct after he’d encountered the man with the top hat a second time - Harry had no other name for him at the moment - was to go straight to Ron and Hermione, but he had decided against it. He could imagine very well what it would be like for him, having a Draco Malfoy on his doorstep who was trying to convince him he was Ron. He’d probably think it a sick joke and send him home with a nasty Stinging Hex or two. No, he would have to convince them - and Kingsley - of what had happened first before actually going to face them, and for that, he needed answers.

Encountering nobody on his way there, he was finally able to find the library of the Manor, having guessed correctly - and happily so - that a house like this, if you could call a house this size still a house, simply couldn’t _not_ have a library. 

By the looks of it, he was roughly on the second floor of the place, and probably nearer the East Wing than anywhere else. As he slowly walked through the small corridors, all surrounded by the many bookcases the library held, he took in the small fortune of books present. He wondered where to start. Hermione would’ve probably been able to give him at least one suggestion, but as he wasn’t able to reach her at the moment, he would have to do without her advice for now. 

He figured, though, that of all the libraries in England, the Malfoy library was probably the one to find out more about this kind of rare - and possible even dark - magic. Yet something bothered him: Malfoy had honestly been aggravated by what had happened, almost as much as Harry was. 

Turning around another bookcase, he encountered a large, dark wooden desk in the middle of something he couldn’t describe as anything else but a clearing. Books of every colour and size were stacked around it in a wide circle, making the desk and the chair behind it resemble some kind of librarian throne. On the right corner of the desk stood a lit oil lamp, emitting a soft but warm glow. As Harry approached it he noticed the many pieces of parchment lying over one another. He sat down and picked up a random one. Noticing it was mostly figures and numbers, he quickly put it back down again, deciding that it wasn’t going to make him any wiser, and picked up another one - finding only more figures. Another one - numbers. Yet another - again only rows and rows of what seemed like endless and senseless calculations. Was that what Malfoy did in his free time, then? 

Harry tiredly rubbed his face. His side was still stinging from the hard blow he’d received earlier, his head still somewhat heavy from his encounter with the man in the top hat. Sighing, he began going through more of the papers, disregarding most of them and throwing them aside. Finally, he found an unwritten scratch of parchment. Opening up the main drawer of the desk, he extracted what looked like a very expensive Eagle feather and a bottle of ink. He opened it, dipped the feather inside and started writing. 

_The Man in the Top Hat_

He thought for a moment before continuing, deciding his best course of action was to make a list of everything he knew for sure, but he came up with very little. Had time slowed down because of the strange man, or had Harry merely been tired? The first time, like both Ron and Hermione had insisted, he _had_ felt sick, and the second time he’d been hit with a very strong hex, almost knocking him out cold. Surely… He shook his head and, figuring it wouldn’t do much harm, noted it down anyway.

 _Time slows down_

The next thing to think about was what had happened between him and Malfoy. He wouldn’t like to think the two - or three - things were related, but in the wizarding world, Harry had learned, you should never assume otherwise. And so the body swap also made it to the list. 

Observing his own handwriting, he sighed again. The man could wait, at least for now. The most important thing was the problem of the body swap, so that was what he was going to research. If he did - surprisingly so - encounter any texts or book about the mysterious man, he would be very happy, but until that time, he’d probably just try to forget about it. If he was really honest with himself, the man kind of gave him the chills. He got up, took another good look around to memorise where in the library he was, put the piece of parchment in the pocket of his trousers just in case, and set off in search of any books about cases in which the victims had exchanged their bodies. 

With _Curious Cases of Magic through the Ages, A History of Extraordinary Hexes and Spells_ and _The Encyclopedia of Magic: From Accio to Wingardium Leviosa_ under his arm, he returned to the desk, cleared the last pieces of parchment off it, opened up the first book and started reading.

*

Harry awoke with a start. Not sure what had caused it, he raised his wand, lighting it with a quick flick. The oil lamp on the desk had long gone out, and since the sun had set what seemed like many hours ago, the library was completely dark. Reckoning it was probably around 2 or 3 am, he lifted his wand higher to light as much of the path in front of him as possible and set out to find Malfoy’s bedroom.

Again he walked through corridors, hallways and empty rooms, finding himself - more than once - in a spot he’d already been. When he finally managed to find the double doors leading into the unfamiliar chamber, the sun was once again up and shining.

  
**\- CHAPTER 3 -**  
The secrets of Draco Malfoy

The first thing Harry noticed the following day was that it was not easy being Draco Malfoy. He had woken up late that morning, entirely confused about his whereabouts until he had remembered the previous day. His stomach had grumbled loudly. Once again - and not entirely unexpectedly - he had lost his way down to wherever he would be able to find food, had given up, grabbed his cloak and - figuring the Aurors would have been knocking on the Manor’s front doors by now if they’d noticed him going out the day before - activated his self-made Portkey.

The familiar pull behind his navel had been almost comforting, the fall on his knees, however, hadn’t. Harry had never quite understood how apparently more experienced wizards and witches were able to stay on their feet. 

He gave number twelve a once over before setting out towards central London. He had been there on the day Draco and Narcissa Malfoy had been sentenced, but couldn’t remember the exact details of it. Deciding that that would be something he would need to read up on when he’d get back home, he set out for some food. 

The pub he entered not long afterwards looked a lot like the Leaky Cauldron, with its dimly lit corners and the soft murmur of its customers, although without the magical aspect of it. The lights were not oil lamps, dusty with the stain of years and many a cobweb hanging off them. There were no people in cloaks, no Butterbeer, nor a Tom behind the bar greeting him happily. No, it wasn’t the Leaky Cauldron, but since it felt close enough to it and hidden enough for him to stay undetected, he decided to stay. 

‘Wha’ can I get fur ya then, lad?’ a filthy-looking man asked him as he sat down, a small notepad and what looked like a chewed up pencil in his hands. 

Harry looked around, not sure what to order. In the end, deciding to not risk possible food poisoning, he ordered what he thought was mostly safe: a standard English breakfast. The man grunted as he walked away, a limp clearly visible in his step. Harry heard him shout something rather unintelligible at a man who was sticking his head out of what must be the kitchen door before he picked up one of the many filthy glasses and set to cleaning it. 

Some minutes passed in which Harry hadn’t much to do but observe his surroundings and think. Across the pub, two older - and not very clean-looking, either - men were huddled together, whispering urgently. One of them was playing with a small knife, letting it turn and twist in between his fingers. Harry quickly looked away when he saw one of them look up, but it was already too late. Cursing under his breath, he carefully slipped his wand out from beneath his cloak. Hiding it under the table, he watched the man with the knife walk over and sit down across him, his smile more of a grimace with several teeth missing. He stared intently at Harry, his big muddy-green eyes wide, the white of them heavily bloodshot. 

‘’N wha’s a pretty boy like yourself doin’ in here, I wonder?’ The man smiled even wider at him, his knife still flicking through his fingers. ‘All’lone, are you?’ 

Harry glanced at the man’s companion, who was downing his beer with a couple of big gulps before slamming the now empty mug down on the table and making his way over to the two of them. He stopped behind the grimacing man, his back to the bar, blocking the barman from Harry’s view. 

‘I think he’s’lone, Boris,’ the man continued when Harry didn’t answer. The one named Boris chuckled darkly. 

‘I think you’re mistaken, actually,’ Harry said, gripping his wand a little tighter. 

‘’R we now, eh?’ The still unnamed man answered him, his eyes twinkling dangerously in the dim light of the pub. ‘R we?’ 

Harry gave his wand the tiniest of flicks and concentrated hard on performing a solid _Confundus_ charm. Both the nameless man and Boris blinked as if confused, staring - somewhat dazed - back up at Harry. 

‘Yes, I really think you are,’ Harry repeated. 

The man nodded quickly, his eyes focused on a point behind Harry. 

‘Yea’,’ he croaked. ‘Yea, Boris. The boy isn’lone after all.’ 

Boris, obviously not there to add anything of importance to the conversation, but, as Harry guessed, probably there just for the threat or sheer force, nodded once before following his crony back to the table they’d come from, signing the dirty barman for what looked like another round of drinks. 

Harry let out a heavy sigh of relief before leaning back in his chair. 

Put off the idea of breakfast in the gloomy-looking pub, he felt his pockets for some money, but only found a couple of heavy gold coins. He groaned. He hadn’t thought about bringing along any Muggle money when he’d set out, no longer being accustomed to spending time in the Muggle parts of London. Hoping that the barman would recognise the coin for what it was - real gold - he laid one of them in the middle of the table and started getting up from the chair. 

He should’ve probably been expecting it by now, but the heavy feeling that settled over him the moment he blinked still took him by surprise. Suspended in the middle of sitting and standing up, Harry’s eyes moved frantically around the room in search for the mysterious man in the top hat. 

His eyes found Boris and the man with the knife. Boris had his mug halfway up to his mouth, which was already open in anticipation of the drink. The other man was leaning over the table, his mouth in the middle of forming a word, knife once more between two of his fingers, hanging in mid-air. 

And then Harry saw him. He was slowly coming up from behind the barman, almost like a shadow, his hat once again hiding his face apart from that creepy smile. His almost abnormally long fingers, much like two white spiders, were curled around the barman’s upper arms. 

For a second everything seemed even more frozen than it already felt, before Harry blinked and everything turned back to normal. 

Finishing standing up, he turned around without so much as giving the barman a second glance, and made his way out of the pub as fast as he could. Once outside, he turned a corner and walked steadily towards the dark end of the alleyway. Not caring about a verdict, Restriction 11B or any Aurors, he turned on the spot and Apparated back to the Manor. No, it was definitely not easy being Draco Malfoy.

*

Harry let the heavy book fall onto the desk. After a thorough search of the documents in the library desk, he’d finally found a written copy of the Malfoys’ verdict. However, 11B was what it had been to him before: a complete mystery. And so he had set out in a search for a book, any book, that could tell him what Restriction 11B was all about. He absentmindedly flipped through the many pages of the book, seeing wizarding law after law appear and disappear in front of his eyes, one as meaningless to him as the next. Rubbing two tired hands over his face, he groaned. He needed help.

For a while he contemplated Flooing Ron and Hermione, but for that he needed a plan. He’d thought about going into Diagon Alley, as he’d been unable to locate any owls in the Manor with which to send a letter, but he didn’t dare venture out again just yet. Something told him that part of Restriction 11B included something about Diagon Alley. If only he could find out _what_! 

Leaning over the desk, he let his head rest on the law book and closed his eyes. He was hungry because he hadn’t had breakfast, tired because he hadn’t got nearly enough sleep, cranky that he couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on with him, scared that nobody would believe him and angry at Malfoy for kicking him out of Grimmauld Place. 

_He was walking along a dark corridor, one of his hands outstretched. He was scared. Clutching the stuffed dragon more tightly against himself, he sniffed. Another flash illuminated his path for a second, followed by a loud, rumbling thunder. He yelped and crouched down, head bent low, and cried into the purple fur of his dragon._

_‘Draco?’ a gentle voice sounded from a distance away._

_Looking up, he blinked away his tears. A door had opened somewhat down the corridor, a streak of light flowing out from the opening, creating elongated shadows on the opposite wall._

_‘M-’ he hiccuped. ‘Mum?’_

_A long and thin figure appeared in the doorway, making its way over to him. When it came closer, he saw it was his mother. She carefully picked him up off the floor. He immediately wrapped his limbs around her and hid his face in her neck, feeling safe for the first time that night. She would protect him, she always did._

Harry woke with a start. He pushed himself off the desk and reached automatically for the place his scar should’ve been, only to find nothing but soft and unblemished skin under the tips of his fingers. Breathing loudly, he sat up straight. He reached out with a trembling hand and closed the book he’d fallen asleep on, looking nervously around the room. It was just a dream, he told himself. Just a dream. There was no Voldemort lurking around the corner, waiting to strike. The Horcrux in him was gone, as was the connection. Voldemort was dead. 

He released a shaky breath as he stood up and made his way out of the library, thinking about what he’d just seen. There had been thunder, a corridor and… a woman? He couldn’t remember. He quickly shook his head. He just needed to get some food, that’s all. If there was one thing he had learned from growing up at the Dursley’s, it was that one should never sleep one an empty stomach: it usually made sure you had a nightmare or two. 

His foot lingered above the topmost step of the stairs leading down from the library floor to what he now knew was the floor on which he could find his - Malfoy’s - bedroom. He’d just seen something very small and skinny disappear around a corner, followed by two big, brown bat-like ears. Something that was wearing two mismatched socks. 

‘Dobby?!’ he gasped as the tips of the ears disappeared around the corner. He knew it couldn’t be; Dobby was dead. ‘Wait!’ 

He turned and sprinted around the corner just in time to see the elf snap its long fingers and Disapparate. 

‘No!’ he choked out. ‘No, wait! Er -’ he looked around himself. ‘Come back!’ 

There was another tiny _pop_ and the creature appeared again. 

He had been right. It wasn’t Dobby. This elf’s ears were smaller, but his eyes bigger and more blue than Dobby’s had been. He was wearing a grey toga with a black M emblazoned across it and, like Harry had seen when the elf had turned the corner, two mismatched socks: one purple and one yellow. 

‘Master requires something from Woldy?’ 

‘Hi,’ stammered Harry. But the elf just blinked his big eyes at him. 

Grief washed over Harry. Even though he knew Dobby was dead, for a moment, just a moment, he’d still hoped that somehow, miraculously - maybe even through some unexplored elf magic… but no. Dobby really was dead, and no elf - however mismatched his socks might be - could ever replace him. 

He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. ‘I...’ he started. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, then added, ‘thanks.’ 

Still the elf did nothing but stare up at him as if he were something very curious. A little uncomfortable now, Harry turned around and walked away slowly, looking back over his shoulder every few steps to see the elf still standing exactly where Harry had left him. 

Feeling slightly miserable now, Harry continued his way downstairs. At one point he scared himself when, lost in thought, he walked past a mirror. Temporarily having forgotten what he looked like now, he raised his wand at his own reflection. When he realised what was happening, he let out a breathy, almost humourless laugh. He wasn't sure of a great many things, but one thing was certain: he didn’t like Draco Malfoy, and he liked _being_ him even less.

As he looked in the mirror over his own shoulder he saw a flash of yellow disappear behind another corner, and the toddle of small footsteps. Scowling slightly, he continued his way down.

It wasn’t much later that he walked into a light and airy room. He let out a surprised gasp. The room was lit with a huge chandelier, even bigger than the one in the drawing room. Candles were perched on it, softly burning in the light of the now setting sun. On the far end wall was a set of windows, adorning it from floor to ceiling, with - just like in Malfoy’s bedroom - thick, golden brown curtains hanging in front of them. In front of the windows was a rectangular table set with food of every kind and colour, wine in what looked like crystal containers, shimmering goblets and deep gold cutlery. He walked past the table and picked up one of the grapes off a platter displaying all kinds of fruit: there were huge chunks of juicy-looking watermelon, apple pieces, soft pink pears and more. 

A voice from behind made him jump just as he bit down on the grape, making its juice dribble down his chin. 

‘Is Mr Malfoy ready to have his dinner?’ 

It was the same man Harry had seen the day before. Immaculate as ever he stood, not facing Harry, but looking directly at a spot on the wall in front of him. Harry wondered why, but didn’t question it and quickly wiped away the sticky juice from his chin with his sleeve. 

He nodded. ‘Yes, thank you.’ 

‘Mrs Malfoy wishes me to inform you that she is otherwise… _engaged_ at the moment,’ the man said and Harry wondered, for a second, if he knew that he’d given Zanna the exact same answer. Deciding this probably wasn’t the case and it was just a happy accident he sat down and started scooping up what looked like freshly roasted potatoes, a chicken leg and a mix of vegetables from whic steam was still rising. 

When he’d filled his glass generously with some red wine he gulped it down, not realising how thirsty he really had been. His eye caught some slight movement in the corner of the room, but he disregarded it, too busy filling himself up until bursting point. 

After a long and happy meal he leaned back in the leather chair and grinned. If only Malfoy could see what he was doing with his body now! He laughed again, but this time the humourless tone had gone, and there was no bitterness and no resentment. It was a genuine laugh, and for the first time in two days, Harry felt that things might not be so bad after all at the Manor. 

Figuring dishes were not something Draco Malfoy usually did in the Manor, he left the room, making a mental note of where to find it, and headed back to the now gloomy-feeling library once again. However, when he laid eyes on the book that had taken up most of his day without harvesting any results, he felt a rather Gryffindor-like urge well up inside of him. 

A rustle made him spin around, wand at the ready, but when he didn’t see anybody or anything move, he tucked it away again before boldly striding over to the single fireplace in the room. 

It was bigger than any other fireplace he’d ever seen, and he wondered if it had been especially designed to Floo from. He took another step closer to it and noticed it was high enough to fit him in completely without so much as having to bend over to get in. A small fire was already burning on the bottom of it. Harry reached out for some Floo powder and threw it in, turning the flames a venomous shade of green. 

Sticking his head inside the burning flames, he said loudly, ‘The Burrow!’ and felt his head spinning away from his body. 

He coughed as he breathed in a mouthful of ashes. Somebody gave a surprised yelp and approached the fire. 

Eyes watering, Harry looked up and stared directly into the cold-looking eyes of Mr Weasley. 

‘Arthur,’ he said quickly and saw the man in question frown at him. ‘Mr Weasley, Harry corrected himself, ‘are Ron and Hermione present?’ 

Mr Weasley took his time to answer, still staring at Harry with utmost curiosity. 

‘Why?’ he asked. 

‘It’s urgent.’ Harry hoped his the look on this face and the tone of his voice would be able to convince Arthur somewhat, but he couldn’t be sure. This was a Malfoy he was dealing with, after all. 

‘Very well,’ Arthur said, giving what looked to him like Draco Malfoy’s head another once over before leaving the room. 

It felt like a lifetime ago that Harry had last been in the Burrow, yet it hadn’t even been a week. Somehow the body swap seemed to have thrown him completely off balance time-wise. Without the Auror office to return to and his friends to visit, his days felt a lot longer and more stretched out, as if somebody had enchanted time to go slower. 

‘He’s not here.’ 

At first Harry thought it was Arthur who had come back to tell him Ron and Hermione weren’t there, but when he looked up he saw the same cold eyes look down at him, only now from the face of Ron. 

Harry, knowing that he would only get one good shot at this, wasted no time. 

‘My name is Harry James Potter,’ he said. ‘I currently reside at number twelve Grimmauld Place in London. The house-elf residing there is named Kreacher, who wears the duplicated locket of Regulus Arcturus Black, who died in the cave trying to destroy a Horcrux. You are Ronald Billius Weasley and Hermione Jean Granger, now together and living at the Burrow until Hermione has located her parents in Australia. Hermione, you’re the smartest witch of our year, yet you never seem to accept that compliment no matter how many times Ron and I tell you, and Ron, no matter how many times you tell her, your mother still can’t remember you really don’t like corned beef on your sandwich.’ 

Ron’s eyes grew wide with shock as Hermione let out a high squeak, covering her mouth quickly with her hands. 

‘My name is Harry Potter,’ Harry continued, ‘and I’m stuck in the body of Draco Malfoy.’

  
**\- CHAPTER 4 -**  
Restriction 11B

‘Mate,’ Ron breathed, looking flabbergasted. He was on his knees in front of the fire now, his face inches from Harry’s burning one.

‘But… how?’ Hermione asked from behind Ron. 

‘Listen,’ Harry said, trying to look past Ron, ‘can I come through?’

Ron looked back towards where his father had disappeared to earlier when he’d gone to fetch him and Hermione. There was a shimmer of uncertainty on his face. Harry could guess what he was thinking. Draco Malfoy inside the Burrow - what if his father came walking back in? 

Hermione answered for both of them. ‘Or do you want us to come through to you?’

Harry couldn’t pretend he hadn’t expected this and took a moment to answer, moving his now aching knees from where they were still sitting on the hard floor of the Manor. 

He shook his head. ‘No, Narcissa Malfoy can’t find out about this.’ When he saw Ron about to open his mouth he quickly continued, ‘Listen, I’ll explain it all later. Whether that’s here or somewhere else doesn’t matter. Some time away from the Manor at least would be nice.’ 

He looked at Hermione, who was still looking at him as if he were some kind of very complicated riddle to solve. 

‘Can we tell Dad?’ Ron asked him. 

Harry doubted it for a second. Was it wise? ‘Who else is home?’ he asked instead. 

‘No one,’ Ron answered. ‘Mum’s away visiting Muriel, and Ginny’s at Luna’s, I think.’ 

‘Muriel?!’ Harry asked, and for a moment he saw the ghost of a grin appear on Ron’s face. He heard Hermione sigh. 

‘Don’t be foolish, Ron,’ she said. ‘Muriel helped your family a great deal during the war, it’s only logical they grew fond of each other.’ 

‘You obviously haven’t spent more than twenty-four hours with her,’ Ron said, now really smiling. 

Harry couldn’t help letting out a soft chuckle, earning him an appreciative grin from his best friend and a disapproving look from Hermione. 

‘Anyway, let me get Dad, then. If you’re sure, that is.’ 

He looked at Harry, who nodded. ‘Yeah, I guess that’s fine.’ 

Harry racked his brain in search for something, _anything_ that he could say to Arthur to truly convince him that he was Harry Potter, when Hermione spoke up again. 

‘We were wondering why you’d called in sick.’ It was a statement, not a question.

Harry looked up. So Malfoy hadn’t done anything drastic, then. Good. 

‘Do you have any idea how this happened?’ she asked. 

Harry shook his head, but Hermione continued before he could answer properly. ‘Do you think...?’ She paused. ‘No,’ she said, ‘No, that’d be… But maybe...?’ 

Harry could hear an urgent sort of murmur coming from the adjoining room. 

‘Maybe,’ Hermione repeated. 

‘Care to enlighten me?’ Harry asked, getting somewhat impatient. His knees really started to hurt now, and he was pretty sure his wrists would be sleeping when he’d get back. 

But before Hermione could as much as open her mouth Harry heard a very familiar - and now a lot friendlier - voice coming from the doorway to his right. ‘Oh my, is it really?’ 

Arthur Weasley was standing there with a still very nervous looking Ron close behind. There was a smile playing on his lips, and unlike Ron and Hermione, he seemed to find Harry’s predicament more fascinating than anything else. 

Good old Arthur, Harry thought, smiling back at him. He felt oddly relieved at his positive attitude. 

‘Really,’ Harry repeated. ‘And although I’m not entirely sure yet, I think I’ve discovered the use of the rubber duck.’ 

Arthur let out a roaring laugh at this, and even Ron and Hermione couldn’t help but smile. 

‘Come on through, son,’ Arthur said as he walked further back into the kitchen. ‘Molly isn’t around, but I can see if I can boil some water for tea?’ 

‘That’d be lovely,’ Harry said. ‘See you in a second, then.’ 

He pulled his head back and immediately felt it spin before reconnecting with his body. He got up, dusting off his trousers, robes and hands, and rubbed his wrists a little. He wasn’t sure, just like using a Portkey, he would ever get used to the feeling of Flooing. In the end he still preferred flying over all other forms of transportation, no matter how much Apparition had grown on him. He grimaced for a moment. They’d never been able to relocate his Firebolt after the attack during the move from Privet Drive, and it still saddened him. Somehow it had been the last living proof of Sirius’ short-lived presence in Harry’s life. 

Taking a deep gulp of breath he turned and picked up the big law book from the desk. He threw another handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace and set out for the Burrow once more. 

Upon re-entering - completely, this time around - he saw Ron pull a face as if he were about throw up another bucket of slugs. 

‘We better get you back into your own body,’ Ron said, ‘because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get used to this.’ 

‘Have you contacted Kingsley yet?’ Arthur asked him as he pulled back a chair and sat down. An old iron kettle was already whistling softly on the stove, steam rising from its spout. 

Harry copied his movements, sitting down next to Hermione. He shook his head. ‘Even if I made it as far as to find a way to contact him, I wouldn’t know what to say.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ Hermione looked even more puzzled now. 

‘Zanna came by yesterday,’ Harry said. Had it really only been yesterday? He wondered once again what had happened to the time. ‘Remember that I ran into Malfoy - well, _me_ \- at the Ministry?’ 

Ron and Hermione nodded, but Arthur scowled. 

‘I thought Draco wasn’t allowed inside the Ministry?’ he said. 

‘Exactly,’ Harry answered. ‘So directly approaching Kingsley is out.’ He held up his hand when he saw Hermione was about to interrupt him. ‘I tried finding an Owlery of any kind in the Manor, but that place is a maze.’ He ran a hand through his hair and was pleasantly surprised when he felt it fall back as if it hadn’t been disturbed. ‘But even if I could’ve found an owl there,’ he continued, ‘I’m sure the Ministry would stop it before it would reach Kingsley somehow. So then I thought of going to the post office in Diagon Alley...’ 

‘Why didn’t you?’ Ron asked. 

‘Well, that’s where you come in,’ Harry said and started explaining his worries about Restriction 11B. How he had been unable to find anything explaining it in the original verdict and how the law book wasn’t helping him much. 

‘Oh, come here,’ Hermione said after he’d finished his story. She opened the book and started flipping through the pages in earnest. 

Ron spared her a single glance before looking back at Harry. ‘So what about you?’ he said. ‘I mean, your body, obviously.’ He gestured at Malfoy’s body as he spoke. 

‘Ron’s right,’ Arthur said as he got up to pick up the kettle from the stove, which had been screaming for its release from the heated fire below. Four mismatched cups came flying out of one of the cabinets and positioned themselves in a neat line on the counter. ‘I know you don’t like to hear it, but there could be a lot of trouble when he realises what power you hold in the Ministry.’ 

Harry sighed. Arthur was right, he _didn’t_ like to hear it, and if he was honest with himself, he didn’t really understand it either. He’d just followed the path Dumbledore had so carefully laid out for him. He wasn’t extraordinary. Neville would’ve done the exact same thing if he’d had to, he was sure…

‘I went there,’ he said at last. 

‘Where?’ Ron asked while at the same time Hermione said, ‘Oh! And how did that go?’ Arthur only raised his eyebrows as he levitated the cups onto the table. 

‘Well,’ Harry said, choosing his words carefully now. ‘He looked as scared as I was, to be honest.’ 

‘You went to see Malfoy?’ Ron said, but before Harry could answer, he added, ‘He’s at Grimmauld Place?!’

Harry nodded. ‘Yeah. I was sure he’d something to do with it. But the longer I think about it -’ 

‘This is magic beyond any single wizard or witch,’ Arthur interjected. 

‘What about your Patronus?’ Hermione asked suddenly. 

‘What about it?’ Harry asked in return. 

Hermione gave Arthur a furtive look before continuing. ‘Well,’ she said, but paused, and Harry knew she was searching for the right words. ‘I heard rumours,’ she went on. ‘Rumours about the Department of Mysteries.’

‘Those are only rumours, though,’ Arthur said directly to her. 

Ron looked from Harry, to his father, to Hermione and back. ‘I’m lost,’ he said finally. 

‘As am I,’ Harry said. 

This time it was Arthur who spoke. ‘It is said that one of the magical aspects they’re researching at the Department of Mysteries is what you could call our soul or magical core.’ He looked at Harry. ‘I don’t know if you know this, but unlike us, Muggles don’t get a choice in what happens… _after_.’ The word was heavily emphasised, and Harry knew what he meant. ‘They think that because we get a choice, our souls - or however you want to call it - aren’t as attached to our bodies as we might’ve assumed. Of course, like Hermione said, these are just rumours.’ 

‘As were the Hallows,’ Ron said. ‘But those turned out to be more than true, didn’t they?’ 

‘So what does my Patronus have to do with it?’ Harry asked, now positively confused. 

‘The form of your Patronus could indicate a great many things,’ Hermione answered. ‘And we’re all confused, Harry.’ 

‘Hey,’ Ron said suddenly, ‘didn’t you say that you saw a weird guy at the Ministry?’ His eyes grew wide as if he’d suddenly realised something. ‘That _was_ you that day, wasn’t it?’ 

‘What?’ Harry said feeling slightly affronted. ‘Yes, of course that was me. I didn’t wake up like this until yesterday morning.’ 

‘K,’ Ron said, looking at the cup between his hands as if slightly ashamed of his accusation. ‘I was just checking, you know. Because of Malfoy following you down there and all.’ 

‘What guy?’ Arthur asked, sipping from his own cup. 

Harry explained to him what had happened at the Ministry. Arthur shook his head calmly. 

‘I’ve never heard of anything or anybody like that,’ he said. ‘Of course, it might just all be a coincidence.’ 

‘That’s what I said,’ Hermione added as the pointer of Ginny on the Weasleys’ family clock moved from _Out_ to _Travelling_. 

Harry groaned; he had completely forgotten about Ginny. 

‘Do you want to go?’ Hermione asked him. She had noticed the pointer move, too. 

Harry shook his head for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. ‘No,’ he said and sighed. ‘No, I should probably tell her.’ 

Ron pulled a face of utter disgust. ‘As long as the two of you don’t start snogging. I don’t think I could live through seeing my sister snog Malfoy, mate, I’m sorry.’ 

‘Ron!’ Hermione said, the shock clear in her voice. 

‘What?!’ He said in return. ‘You can’t possible expect -’ 

But Arthur cut them off. ‘I think there are more important matters at hand than who is snogging my daughter.’ He looked at Harry. ‘No offence meant, son.’ 

Harry smiled, finding the situation surprisingly amusing. ‘None taken.’ 

There was the soft _pop_ of Apparition outside, making Harry’s insides tighten, and the opening of the Burrow’s back door that led into the kitchen. Harry wanted to get up, to say something right away, and above all make sure she wouldn’t hex him. However, as Ginny appeared to be in a very foul mood, he didn’t get the chance. 

Immediately after coming in she turned her back towards the kitchen table, taking off her coat and hanging it up on the peg next to the door, all the while venting furiously. 

‘So I thought,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘you know, I haven’t seen Harry in some days, I’ll pay him a visit, too.’ She put up her coat with such force, the peg let loose a little. 

‘However, instead of asking me in or being in _any_ way glad to see me, he asked me what I was doing there!’ She turned, ready to continue but spotted Harry sitting at the table, rendering her speechless for a moment. 

‘And what are _you_ doing here?’ she finally demanded, hands on her hips. ‘Wait, no, never mind that,’ she continued and, apparently deciding to ignore the presence of Draco Malfoy in her kitchen, turned her attention full on her father, brother and Hermione. 

‘You should’ve seen his face, too! As if he’d just seen a ghost.’ She angrily pulled at the rubber band holding her hair back. ‘Unbelievable! And then, you know what he did then? He slammed the door in my face! IN MY FACE! That insensitive, inconsiderate… What’s so funny?’ 

‘Ginny, sit down,’ Arthur said calmly, pointing at a free chair next to him. ‘Tea?’ 

‘No I don’t want any bloody tea!’ she said, her face red and hair as messy as Harry had ever seen it, now free of the ponytail she so often wore, but sat down nevertheless. She looked at Harry intently for a moment before redirecting her gaze back towards the others. 

‘And is anybody going to tell me why Draco sodding Malfoy is in our kitchen?’ 

‘That’s not Malfoy,’ Ron said, but Harry heard he was being careful. He couldn’t blame him, Ginny was brilliant at hexing people. 

‘I mean, it _is_ ,’ he quickly added when he saw Ginny look from Harry to him once more, ‘but like… It’s not _him_.’ 

‘Yes, Ron,’ Ginny said. ‘Please stop making sense.’ 

Ron looked to Hermione for help. 

‘Ginny,’ she said, patting Ron on the hand twice, ‘you’d better brace yourself.’

*

‘No… That was Malfoy?!’ Ginny said after they’d finished talking. Just like with the rest, Harry had told her something very unlikely for Malfoy to know, namely some of the things they’d shared in their rare solitary moments at Hogwarts during his sixth year. He had blushed when he’d shared these things, as had Ron, whose face had turned as red as his hair and who had stared intently at a point on the far end wall, while Hermione had once again buried her nose deep in the book Harry had brought with him. Arthur meanwhile, had turned his back on them, Harry suspected as so not to intrude on this - although the circumstances where contradictory - somewhat private moment.

‘No wonder!’ She looked at Harry with her big brown eyes. ‘You know, you don’t exactly look too bad like this either,’ she said and gave him a very cheeky grin. 

‘GINNY!’ Ron shouted immediately, resulting in Ginny putting up her hands in mock surrender. ‘Just kidding, just kidding,’ she said quickly, but Harry saw her rake her eyes over his body nonetheless. 

He shouldn’t feel offended by this, she could’ve taken the news far worse after all, but somehow he still did. Huffing, he looked away from her and focused on Ron’s angry stare towards her instead. 

‘You should probably contact the Ministry, though,’ Ginny suggested after some time. 

Arthurs sat back down next to her, handing her a steaming cup of what smelled like cinnamon-flavoured tea. ‘That’s what we were discussing, before you stormed in, that is,’ he said and smiled warmly at his daughter. 

Ginny hid her face in the mug, and Harry heard her mumble something unintelligible about it not being her fault, which went unheard or was otherwise disregarded by the rest of the people at the table. 

‘So why didn’t you go to the post office in Diagon Alley again?’ Ron asked him. 

Harry pulled his gaze away from Ginny and focused it on Ron. ‘I didn’t know if I was allowed there,’ he said.

‘Because of that 11B thing?’ Ron asked. 

‘Restriction 11B, to be exact,’ Hermione said as she put down the book and looked around the table. ‘I found it.’ 

They all listened intently as she read the restriction out loud to them. 

‘Okay,’ Harry said after she was finished. ‘So let me get this straight: I am allowed out of the house between 8am and 8pm, I may visit Diagon Alley, but only specific shops and places of it, I am not allowed inside the Ministry without specific written permission or in close proximity of...’ he nodded towards the book, ‘the list of people that is mentioned in there,’ he finished. 

‘Correct,’ Hermione answered. ‘And don’t forget the spells you’re not allowed to do.’ She fixed a stern glare upon him. ‘Including the creation of a Portkey, which falls under a level 4 spell, and Malfoy’s only allowed to do spells up until level 3.’ 

‘Well they didn’t come for him, did they?’ Ron said. ‘So it must be okay then, they can’t have noticed.’ 

Arthur hummed approvingly. ‘You have to be careful, though,’ he said. ‘They might not’ve noticed it this time, but the spells they placed around the Manor and around you and Mrs Malfoy are there, and they’re working.’

‘Then why didn’t they work last time?’ Ginny said and looked from her father to Harry. 

‘I can only guess,’ Arthur answered. ‘But my suspicion is that there was too much magical activity going on at the time at the Manor.’ He looked at Harry. ‘Meaning you got lucky when you created the Portkey to Grimmauld Place.’ 

‘But how can he just have got lucky?’ Ginny asked and downed the rest of her tea. Harry looked down; he’d completely forgotten his own, which had undoubtedly gone cold by now. 

‘It’s like how the Ministry controls Underage Wizardry, isn’t it?’ Hermione asked, but obviously didn’t expect anybody to answer as she continued immediately. However, Arthur nodded nonetheless. ‘They can sense _some_ magic being done, but not who’s done it.’ 

‘I bet Malfoy’s parents always let _him_ use magic at home,’ Ron said softly and almost resentfully. He looked at his father from under his lashes. 

Arthur ignored this. ‘Exactly,’ he said, smiling at Hermione. ‘It might’ve just been that they weren’t able to distinguish the magic that was being done. That doesn’t mean you should try it again, though’ he said sternly to Harry. 

‘And what about the Portkey I’ve already made?’ Harry asked. ‘Can I still use that one?’ 

‘I’m not sure,’ Arthur answered. ‘But to be safe, I wouldn’t. Plus the restriction says nothing about Apparition.’ 

‘It’s categorised as a level 4 spell, though,’ Hermione offered. 

Arthur hummed again. ‘But it isn’t exactly a spell, is it?’ 

Nobody answered. The clock on the mantelpiece softly chimed nine times. 

Harry jumped up. ‘I should’ve been home for an hour!’ he said and was about to pick up the thick law book when Hermione spoke. 

‘Would you mind leaving the book? I would like to read up on it a bit more.’ 

Harry smiled adoringly at her. ‘Of course not,’ he said and made his way over to the fireplace. 

‘Thanks for everything,’ he said as the flames in front of him turned green. 

‘No problem,’ Arthur said. ‘I’ll see if I can get Kingsley to come around for dinner sometime this week. That way we can prepare him and you can talk to him, maybe even have him lift some of the restrictions.’ 

‘That would be fantastic,’ Harry said and gave everybody his final goodbyes for the day before stepping inside the fireplace and stating loud and clear, ‘Malfoy Manor.’ 

There was a loud bang and Harry felt himself being shot forwards. He collided heavily with the wall, letting out a soft _Oof!_ as he did so. Pieces of the fireplace were flying around his ears, and the air was filled with ash and dust. He heard someone cough heavily. 

‘What happened?!’ Ginny asked. He could hear the shock clear in her voice. 

Trying to answer, he inhaled a mouthful of the blackened air himself and started coughing too, when several loud _pop_ s resonated around them. 

Several things happened at once: he heard a booming male voice yell that they needed to lay down their wands, Hermione yelped and Ron cursed heavily, then Arthur bellowed, ‘Ron, don’t!’ before Harry was being grabbed roughly by two different sets of hands. He was pulled out from the kitchen and into the living room before being forced onto his knees. Looking around, he saw that the men who were grabbing him were clad in Auror robes, although he couldn’t make out who they were. His eyes were watering severely, and tears were streaking his now dirty face. 

He heard one of the two men behind him mutter _Incarcerous_ and felt his hands being tied together behind his back. 

‘You’re in trouble now, Malfoy,’ the other said, and now Harry recognised his voice. It was Hawkes Hawlish, one of the Aurors who had once tried to remove Hagrid from Hogwarts during the reign of Dolores Umbridge. His voice was smug. He gave Harry a small smack on the back of the head before following his partner and making his way back towards the kitchen. 

Harry blinked furiously. Where had they gone wrong? Had the Manor locked itself up after 8pm and was that how he’d set off something in the Ministry? Cursing under his breath, he tried to wipe away some of the still lingering dust and tears in his eyes on his shoulder. He blinked again, and slowly the scene around him was becoming clearer. 

Hermione was first to enter the living room. She was holding her hands up high while Hawlish was pointing his wand firmly between her shoulder blades. She shot Harry a wide-eyed look as if wanting to tell him something, and not for the first time in his life, Harry wished he was a better Legilimens. 

Next were Ron and Ginny, led inside by Williamson. Harry had only seen him twice, but knew he was valued highly by Kingsley. 

Last to enter the room was Arthur, right behind Williamson, and in a heated discussion with the man. 

‘Like I said, _Williamson_ ,’ Arthur said, ‘there is a time to act and a time to listen.’ 

Harry looked at all of them, and saw they were just as dirty looking as he felt he was himself.

Williamson just grinned. ‘Indeed _Arthur_ ,’ he said. ‘and now, as you will probably agree, is not that time.’ The words lingered in the air for a moment, Mr Weasley looking from Williamson to Hawlish and finally to Harry as Hawlish once more grabbed him, this time by the ropes around his wrists, and hoisted him up straight again. 

‘Time to go, scum,’ he said and pushed Harry forward hard. 

‘And you,’ he said as he pointed with his free hand at Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Arthur, ‘you can all expect an official Ministry warning before dawn.’ 

‘Draco,’ Harry heard and for a moment he didn’t realise Hermione was addressing him. ‘ _Draco_ ,’ she repeated, more urgently this time. Harry looked at her. 

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ll contact… _Harry_... and Kingsley, and meet you at the Ministry.’ 

Harry nodded, hoping above all else Draco would see reason and cooperate. Even if it was only for his own good. 

Williamson tutted. ‘Oh, but don’t you know?’ he said in a smug voice, the grin still on his face growing even bigger. ‘The Ministry is not where this one’s going. He’s going straight to Azkaban, aren’t you?’ He walked over to where Harry stood, still held firmly by Hawlish, and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up at the much bigger, much broader man’s face. Harry saw that there was a big chunk missing from the right side of his nose. He bit his tongue to bite back a retort. 

‘Right where he belongs,’ Hawlish chuckled. 

‘But you can’t do that!’ he heard Hermione say. Her voice was high and sounded slightly panicked, and he could understand why. One of the first things Kingsley had done after being established as temporary Minister for Magic was to dismiss all Dementors from Azkaban. However, the lack of their presence hadn’t exactly cheered up the place, and to keep the prisoners safely locked away, security had gone up severely. 

‘And why would that be?’ It was Hawlish who’d spoken, sounding almost bored. 

‘I read up on it,’ Hermione answered him, uncertainty clear in her eyes as she sought eye contact with Mr Weasley before looking back at the Auror. ‘According to the restriction as stated in wizarding law, upon breaking or violating there’ll be an automatic follow-up trial to determine the possible severity of the offence and the possible consequences that it’ll carry with it.’ 

Hawlish didn’t even seem to bat an eye at this. ‘And so there will be,’ he said. ‘But as your friend Mr Weasley,’ he looked at Ron, ‘will, undoubtedly, be able to tell you, the Wizengamot is rather occupied at the moment.’ 

Harry saw Hermione open her mouth to continue the argument, but was immediately stopped by Arthur. 

‘Hermione,’ he said, his voice strict. 

As Harry was escorted out he dared one fleeting look over his shoulder and saw Arthur shake his head at him, eyes firmly fixed upon his own. Still trying to figure out what exactly he’d meant by it, he felt the familiar pull of side-along Apparition.

*

_He was sitting on one of his father’s thighs, his legs in between the grown man’s legs, his head leaning against the broad shoulder. Long, silvery blond hair was falling in front of his face. He started playing with it._

_There was a loud wind howling outside, and heavy white flocks were slowly falling down through it, often being swept aside. Across the room from him was an enormous fireplace, the portrait of his long deceased great-grandmother softly smiling down at him._

_His eyes were drooping as he focused once again on his father’s deep and calming voice._

_’In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned -’_

_He let his thoughts wander again. It was one of his favourite stories, and his father was always glad to read it to him. To be able to be so powerful as to trick Death himself… he shuffled closer to his father’s warm body. One day he’d be a strong wizard, too. He’d have his own wand and would do the strongest spells in the whole world,_ just _like his father._

_‘I think he’s fallen asleep, Lucius,’ a soft female voice sounded from the doorway._

_When his father spoke to answer, it was clear he was smiling. ‘No he has’t, I can feel him playing with my hair.’_

_Draco nodded absentmindedly, not wanting his father to stop reading the story, not wanting to go to bed yet._

_Feeling his mothers hands softly comb through his hair, he looked up. His father had already closed the book. He could see the battered cover of it; it was probably generations old already._

_‘Come on love,’ he heard his mother say and saw her open her arms for him. He greedily reached out for her and wrapped his own around her neck, hiding his face in his favourite spot._

Harry groaned, rubbing his heavy eyes and trying to sit up. He’d been tossed in a dark cell carelessly the night before and had tried to find a somewhat comfortable position to get some sleep in. Apparently, it had worked. He opened his eyes and saw the soft glow of the early morning sun shine through one of the tiny windows some good fifty feet outside and above his cell, casting a small rectangle of light on the dirty prison floor and lighting up the specks of dust floating freely in the air. He’d had another one of those dreams. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to recall it. It seemed clearer than it had before, and this time he was sure he’d - unless he had imagined it all - looked inside one of Malfoy’s memories. 

He shivered. Even without the Dementors the place still seemed unnaturally cold, as if - even though they weren’t physically present - their ghosts still roamed free. 

Hours passed before anything happening, the only sound piercing the deafening silence an occasional moan or scream in the distance, leaving Harry’s skin covered in goosebumps. It wasn’t until the figure of light on the floor had turned an orangey red that he heard a pair of footsteps approaching him. 

‘Get up!’ one of the two men ordered when they had reached the bars keeping Harry from the outside world. Both men were wearing black Azkaban robes, a red and circled A visible on the right side of their chest. They were carrying some kind of big black clubs, with which the first Guard was now impatiently tapping the metal in front of him. Harry knew that the Guards of Azkaban were not allowed to carry wands with them anymore when escorting prisoners from one point to the other, and instead had to resort to Muggle violence and consequences if somebody were to cause trouble. There was just too much risk of a detainee trying to steal a wand in a desperate attempt to escape the hole they’d been put in, and so it had been made a general rule. 

As Harry got up the second Guard - a bulky man with short, black hair and deep sunken eyes - took hold of the shackles and chains priorly being slung over one of his shoulders. 

‘Move towards the back of the cell and face the wall,’ the bulky man said, ‘and no funny business.’ 

Harry did as he was told, turning and facing the damp and mouldy wall. Behind him he heard a big set of keys being pulled out of a pocket, one of them being inserted into the - by the sound of it - old and rusty lock. He heard the second Guard approach from the sound the shackles were making dangling from his hand, and felt two muscled arms come around his waist. 

His hands were shackled together, the rest of the chains fastened around his waist, holding his arms firmly down. 

A pull on the chain hanging on his back indicated it was time to move, so he turned and followed the first Guard out, while the second trailed them from a little bit behind, ready to strike if Harry were to try something. 

With a final shove, Harry stumbled into a square room with a ceiling so high he wasn’t sure there even was a ceiling, the only indication of the walls going up higher being two tiny and now red-coloured specks of light in the distance, giving him the overall feeling of being stuck down a very deep well.

Harry turned and looked around for the door he had just come through, but fund nothing but empty walls wherever he looked. In the middle of the room stood a table with two chairs, one on each opposite side of it and in one of the chairs was none other than Harry Potter himself. 

Said Harry Potter launched forward at the sight of him, rounded the table in no time and punched him hard on the nose. 

‘Two day!s’ he snarled. ‘Two days! I leave you alone for _two days_!’ 

Harry stood bent over, blood dripping out of his nose. With his hands shackled the way they were he couldn’t confirm if it was broken or not, but he feared the worst. Breathing heavily he looked up and let himself fall back against one of the walls. 

‘Yes, because _I_ wanted this to happen,’ Harry said with half a sneer, his nose throbbing heavily. ‘I didn’t exactly do it on purpose, you know.’ 

‘Not on…?!’ Draco was positively fuming now. ‘If you’re as stupid as you are you don’t need to _want_ to do it on purpose!’ 

‘You didn’t think I was so stupid when you came begging me at the Ministry the other day!’

Draco said nothing. Instead he glared at him with Harry’s own bright green eyes, so Harry continued. 

‘And if you actually put that arrogant brain of yours to use once in a while, you’d remember that I came to you for help. You could’ve t-’ 

‘You came to accuse me!’ Draco yelled. But before Harry could have shouted anything back at the prat, Kingsley’s booming voice resonated around the room as if coming from the walls itself. 

‘ENOUGH!’ 

Had he been able to hear the whole conversation? Harry looked around the room once more, now picturing Ron and Hermione standing somewhere behind the stone wall. Able to see him and hear him but he not able to see and hear them. 

‘Harry,’ Kingsleys voice once again sounded, ‘come back here for a moment. Mr Malfoy, sit down.’ 

A door appeared suddenly at the other side of the room, its contours now visibly on the dark wall. As it slowly slided open Draco made his way over to it before turning and sneering at Harry. 

‘He means you, _Mr Malfoy_ ,’ he said and exited the room, the door disappearing as abruptly as it had appeared. 

Harry, slightly confused as to what was going on at the moment, pulled the second chair back with his foot and sat down in it, uncomfortably so as he had to keep his legs spread in order not to squish his hands. 

For a fleeting moment Harry was sure they were going to leave him here, in the deep room - or was it high? - without any way of escape, tied up and unable to eat, his only companion the slow and soft dripping of his blood down his chin and onto his shirt, when the door once again reappeared, this time letting in a dark and tall man Harry knew all too well. 

‘Kingsley,’ he breathed, relief spreading through him.

‘I was watching the two of you just now,’ Kingsley said as he sat down in the chair Draco had occupied earlier. ‘It was very interesting indeed.’

Harry said nothing, hoping Kingsley had understood, that he believed him. 

‘Arthur spoke to me,’ Kingsley continued. 

Hope flared up inside of him. ‘So you believe -’ he started, but Kingsleys raised hand stopped him before he could finish the sentence. 

‘I’m not sure yet,’ Kingsley said, his eyes piercing Harry.

  
**\- CHAPTER 5 -**  
Dreams Unravelled

Kingsley had left soon after, and Harry had been unceremoniously escorted back to his cell. The second Guard had laughed cruelly when he’d shoved Harry inside, making him topple over, and Harry, still bound firmly by the shackles around his wrist and waist, had been unable to stop himself from falling flat on his face.

Once again alone, he’d resorted to counting days based on meals and the change in the colour of the light high above. He didn’t know how long he was going to have to stay, or if Kingsley had decided to believe his story, as he had not been able to stay long enough for Harry to explain - or so he had said. Neither had he seen Ron, Hermione, nor any of the others since he’d been so brutally escorted to the prison. 

He shivered violently as an unnaturally cold wind swept fiercely through the corridor. Azkaban held neither beds nor blankets, and the only thing keeping him warm were the clothes he had been wearing upon arrest - which wasn’t much. 

So far it had been four days, Harry knew. Four days in which the only company he’d had were Azkaban staff bringing food, Guards patrolling the hallways twice every twelve hours - often lingering at his cell door to jeer or taunt - and the strange recurring dreams. They’d started out once per night, but had quickly progressed to more. His brain, now so stuck in the body of Draco Malfoy, was slowly being filled up with - what he now knew to be for sure - fitting memories. The oddly false hope of him imagining things, maybe because he didn’t want to feel sympathy for Malfoy, or maybe because he was - however much he didn’t like to admit it - scared of what having these dreams meant, had diminished after he’d dreamt a very clear memory of Malfoy and himself in Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions which he knew had all been very real. He’d witnessed Malfoy choosing his own wand soon after, together with his parents, and had experienced the wonder he’d felt. Malfoy’s dream of becoming as strong a wizard as his father still lingered in his mind, even now that he was awake. 

He had got curious about the dreams, too. At one point during his empty days he’d contemplated the purposeless feeling he’d had right after his bond with Voldemort had been broken. True, he had loathed the connection as much as he’d cherished it, but somehow the lack of a prophecy to fulfill, the lack of somebody telling him what to do, the freedom that came with that - it left him feeling oddly empty, often resulting in him pursuing adventure and dangerous adrenaline-filled situations through the Auror office. This new connection - for what it was - and exploring Draco Malfoy’s psyche, gave him a renewed feeling of sense and purpose, and he now gladly accepted the dreams into his nightly rhythm. 

It was a damp morning when the same two Guards that had taken him to see Draco and Kingsley roughly a week earlier came to him again. The first, unsurprisingly so, was once again swinging the big black bat back and forth as some kind of silent threat. Harry needed none. His nose had never been healed properly, which had resulted in an ever-present dull ache in the bridge of his nose. He wondered what he looked like now, and why Malfoy hadn’t seemed to care. Or maybe his anger had been greater than his fear of damaging his own body, permanently or not. Harry couldn’t guess. He did know that it didn’t matter much, because he was going to get back inside his own body one way or another. There had to be a solution! 

Harry got up as the two men approached his cell, walked back to the far end wall and turned around to face it. A familiar screeching of rusted lock and iron door told him that one of them was now inside. He didn’t move as chains and shackles were put on him, and didn’t turn until he felt the tug at his back. He followed them silently, head bent low, hoping for news, for people. 

However, neither came. He was escorted out into a back room where another lock sounded and his bonds were removed. There were two Hit-Wizards waiting for him there, as it turned out, to escort him to the Ministry of Magic. Harry had obliged, glad to be free of the depressing place with its cold walls and desperate wails of distant inmates, probably still tortured by the memories of long gone Dementors and other horrors that had filled the still gloomy prison. 

He wasn’t surprised when the Hit-Wizards had moved him towards Kingsley’s office. What he hadn’t been expecting was the sense of trepidation when he stepped inside of it, the familiarity of the oval room not in any way helpful or comforting. 

Kingsley didn’t address him as he walked through the big double doors and merely gestured at the seat in front of his desk. Harry looked back over his shoulder, seeing that the two Hit-Wizards had been replaced by two people of Kingsley’s personal Guard; a man and a woman, both dressed in long midnight blue robes, the mark for the Ministry of Magic emblazoned in yellow on their chests and backs. 

Sitting down, he looked back at his old friend, who folded his hands in front of him and fixed him with the same piercing stare he had had when they’d last talked. 

It took Kingsley a relatively long time to speak, but when he did so, the words were not what Harry had imagined they would be. 

‘He’s been placed under constant supervision.’ 

Kingsley had used a pronoun instead of one of their names. 

‘Still not sure, then?’ Harry asked. 

The Minister shook his head solemnly. ‘No,’ he said, ‘and we can’t be until we investigate the matter in further detail.’ 

‘Is he denying it?’ Harry asked. He clenched his jaw. If Malfoy was contradicting what he and the others were saying… 

Kingsley took some time to answer, his gaze never leaving Harry’s. ‘He’s not,’ he finally said.

‘Then why -’

‘-am I not convinced?’ Kingsley raised his eyebrows. ‘Can you think of any spell or spells that could put us in this exact same situation without there being an actual case of the two of you swapping bodies?’ 

Several spells immediately came to mind and Harry hung his head slightly. 

‘Is there anything I could say that could convince you at all?’ he tried finally, tired, cold and worn out, and really, really wanting to go home. Maybe have a nice cup of tea with his mother. With a shock he looked back up at Kingsley, who didn’t seem to notice. Had he really just called Narcissa Malfoy his mother? He wanted to groan. They were just dreams, he told himself. Just dreams and old memories. And Azkaban has been messing with your head. Let it go. 

‘I’m afraid not,’ Kingsley answered, and for a moment Harry wasn’t sure what he was talking about. 

‘So,’ Harry started. ‘Then why am I here?’ He looked back over his shoulder at the two Guard members waiting there, suddenly nervous. 

‘You’re here...’ Kingsley said and, unfolding his arms, looked at Harry. It was a warm sort of look, and for the first time he got the feeling that Kingsley did want to believe him, but that he just really couldn’t. ‘Because we’re going to release you.’ 

Harry let out a deep sigh, closed his eyes and relaxed back into the chair. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. 

‘I must advise you, however,’ and this time Kingsley’s voice was stern, ‘to stay inside the Manor. Do not leave and do not contact anybody without Ministry approval and _written_ ,’ he waited for Harry to open his eyes to look at him before continuing, as if making sure he’d really understood, and Harry nodded once, ‘permission. This is vital for you to understand.’ Harry nodded again. ‘If you break the rules again, I’m afraid I will not be in a position to be of any help, not even as the Minister for Magic.’ 

‘Yes sir,’ Harry said, feeling his back muscles relax. He wasn’t going back to Azkaban. There wasn’t going to be a hearing, he wouldn’t get punished. He heard the door open and saw Kingsley give a curt nod to somebody standing behind him. He turned in his chair. The two Hit-Wizards who had dropped him off earlier had come back into the office. Harry stood up, understanding that the conversation was over. 

He jumped slightly as a big hand landed on his shoulder and looked back over it to find Kingsley standing next to him. Staring intently into Harry’s now grey eyes, he squeezed once. 

‘You’ll be contacted soon,’ he said before giving the Hit-Wizards orders to drop him off at the Manor. As Harry was escorted out he dared a last glance back at Kingsley, who was leaning - almost slumping - against his desk, one hand planted firmly next to him on to the surface, the other covering his face.

*

Where the Manor - prior to the happenings of the past four days - had felt cold and distant, it now felt the exact opposite: warm and inviting, almost like home.

He didn’t have to say goodbye to the men who’d escorted him there. They’d disappeared as soon as they’d entered the wards, which was fine by Harry. 

Not exactly knowing what he’d be doing until Kingsley would contact him again, he turned towards the drawing room, hoping for the fire in the big fireplace to be lit and for a steaming cup of tea. He’d then shower later and get some rest in that overly soft, overly large bed of Malfoy’s. Maybe he’d even be able to ask the curious little house-elf he’d met - what had his name been again? Waldy… Wolly? _Woldy_ , he thought - to show him the way this time, so he wouldn’t get lost again. 

As lost in thought as he was, he didn’t see the woman sitting in the room when he entered until she let out a high gasp. 

‘Draco!’ she exclaimed and almost jumped out of her chair, her book falling forgotten to the floor. She walked towards him and engulfed him in a tight and warm hug, one of her hands almost absentmindedly playing with his hair. He hugged her back tentatively, mixed feelings rising in his stomach. 

It was her who ended the hug, but not because she had had enough of him, apparently. Putting her hands on either side of his face she just stared at him, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh Draco,’ she finally said, her voice nothing more than a whisper. ‘I was so very afraid. After your father...’ her voice faltered. ‘I couldn’t stand to lose you as well.’ 

Harry swallowed and had to tell himself that she really wasn’t his mother before he was able to speak. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, uncertain, and put his own hands over hers. She just shook her head; whether this was in disbelief or denial of his excuse, Harry didn’t know. 

He let go of her hands as she dropped them. Dabbing her eyes with her fingers, she turned and picked up the book still lying open on the floor. Still with her back to him, she closed it. Harry couldn’t read the title of what she’d been reading, but he recognised the cover all too well: it was the exact same cover of the book his father had read to him every single night before going to bed until he had been old enough to go to Hogwarts. 

She straightened her back. ‘Well,’ she said and turned back towards him. Her hands were white with the force with which she was clutching the bound leather. There was a smile on her lips now, but it wasn’t a warm smile, and it certainly didn’t reach her eyes the way he had got used to. ‘You sit down,’ she continued. ‘I’ll go ask Clifton if he can bring us some tea.’ 

As she left the room Harry shook his head. Memories were swimming in front of his eyes. When Narcissa had hugged him he’d recognised her scent so well, even though that wasn’t even remotely possible. Yet that soft aroma of flowers tinged with something else, something mysterious, had filled his nostrils and had engulfed him in a feeling of well-being, of being home, of being _safe_. 

He let himself fall on to the bigger sofa and closed his eyes.

*

_He was chasing something big and white in the backyard. The sun was high up in the sky, and a cool breeze was softly caressing his face. He laughed. One day he’d catch it, maybe when he was bigger and faster. He managed to move closer and could see it was one of the Manor’s peacocks. It turned and let out a high shriek as it waddled quickly around one of the garden’s trees._

_His mother was sitting in one of the terrace’s chairs a little bit away, drinking tea and reading what looked like a newspaper. She looked up in search for him and caught his eye._

_‘Leave the poor animal alone, Draco,’ she said sternly, but she couldn’t hide the smile playing on her lips._

_‘What’s he doing?’ Draco heard a heavier voice say. It was his father. He looked over his shoulder and saw thim approach them from the house. As Lucius passed him, he stroked over Draco’s head with one of his gloved hands before continuing towards his mother and giving her a fleeting kiss._

_‘Oh, he was chasing one of the peacocks again,’ she said as she smiled up at him. ‘How was the Minister?’_

_He ran over to his parents and tried to climb onto his father’s knee, who picked him up beneath his arms and lifted him up easily. He settled down against the big chest, like he always did._

_Lucius was slowly taking off his gloves. ‘Same old, same old,’ he said. ‘So you caught it, then?’ He ruffled Draco’s hair, who shook his head._

_‘One day I will!’_

_‘Of course you will, dear,’ Narcissa answered him as she picked the Prophet back up and continued reading._

Harry jumped upright, a soft blanket slipping off his shoulders as he did so. With his heart beating loudly inside of his chest he looked around the room; had somebody been in there with him? Shadows were dancing on the walls in the flickering light of the lit candles. The fireplace was almost burned out, save for a few still smouldering bits of wood here and there. The portrait of the woman above it was soundly asleep. Narcissa was gone. 

He slipped off the blanket completely, letting it fall back on to the couch as he got up. A cup of tea - probably stone cold by now - was still waiting for him on the coffee table. 

Sighing, he decided to try and find the bedroom by himself. It was late enough for anybody to be sleeping, and no matter how much he dreaded the maze waiting for him above, it didn’t feel right to wake a house-elf for this. 

However, as he ascended the last step of the big stone staircase in the entrance hall he realised that the Manor didn’t seem to look so unfamiliar to him at all, and that if he wanted to go to his bedroom, he needed to take a left turn here. 

Walking steadily through the halls, he found that he already knew the way - how exactly, he did not know. It was not even a mere ten minutes later that he entered his bedroom. 

With a small sigh of relief - and not willing to doubt his sudden knowledge of the place - he quickly took off his shoes, shirt and trousers and crawled into the bed. 

_The gravel beneath his shoes crunched as he walked steadily towards the big double doors of the Manor. There was a bite in the air and his breath was coming out in small clouds. Onwards he stalked until he reached the entrance. There he whipped out his wand and nearly blasted the doors open._

_Clifton was waiting for him inside of the hall. Draco thrust his big leather travelling bag into the man’s hands and moved directly towards the dining room, where he knew he’d find his parents._

_Lucius was sipping out of a goblet Draco knew contained one of the best wines, while his mother was softly conversing with him. Both of them looked up as he walked inside and slammed both of his hands on the mahogany table._

_‘You look… disturbed,’ his father said as he gently put down the cup._

_‘Disturbed?’ Draco fumed. ‘Disturbed?!’_

_‘Sit down, Draco.’_

_The voice took him by surprise. Looking up, he saw his mother stare directly at him. He exhaled loudly through his nose before walking to the spot opposite of her, and sat down._

_She dabbed the corners of her mouth delicately with one of the napkins lying on the table. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘tell me what’s bothering you.’_

_Face scrunched up in a heavy scowl, he looked away from her. He couldn’t handle her gentle tones when he was angry. It made him feel calmer, and he didn’t want to feel calmer. He wanted to fume, to shout, to break things. To break…_

_‘It’s bloody_ Potter _,’ he nearly spat. His mother didn’t answer. ‘He’s everywhere! It’s like I can’t get a break. Stupid Potty with his stupid scar. If the Dark Lord were here he-’_

_‘Draco!’_

_He looked back up at his mother. Her face was as white as the finest marble and her eyes - normally so kind and warm - looked like ice._

_‘Do you have_ any _idea what you’re saying?’ Her hands were quivering slightly, and she quickly hid them beneath the tablecloth. ‘Don’t you dare speak that name in this house.’_

_He looked from her to his father, who was staring at him without a single emotion on his face._

_He grinned carefully. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’ he asked. ‘Weren’t we, one of the purest of families, as good as his right hand? Wasn’t father-’_

_‘That’s_ enough _, Draco.’ This time it had been his father who’d interrupted him, his voice nothing more than a whisper. ‘Go to your room,’ he said._

_‘But -’_

_‘I don’t think I told you that point was up for discussion’ Lucius said._

_Draco stood up, angrily shoving his chair back under the table, and nearly ran out of the room. He moved through corridor after corridor, turned corners and passed doors, and then he wasn’t anymore, he was walking back towards the big stone staircase. He felt older, and the travelling clothes he’d been wearing some minutes ago were gone, replaced by the casual wear of somebody who had been home for a while._

_‘You can’t do this, Lucius,’ he heard a female voice say, and realised that it was his mother who was speaking. Her long shadow showed her moving through the drawing room, as it disappeared when she left the doorway._

_Slowly and carefully, he moved closer. He heard his father answer her, but couldn’t make out the words._

_‘Have you thought about us? About your family? Think about what this’ll mean for Draco,’ his mother argued._

_‘What?’ Now he could hear his father’s voice clearly. ‘You think I haven’t thought about him? About you?’ He paused, and Draco knew the look he was giving his mother. ‘What do you think will happen if I_ don’t _show up?’_

_‘It doesn’t have to! We can go to the island, we have a house there... family.’_

_Lucius laughed cold and hard. ‘And you think He doesn’t know that? We wouldn’t be safe, Narcissa.’_

_‘Lucius -’_

_‘Nowhere is safe anymore.’_

_A shadow high above him on the ceiling moved, stopping him dead in his tracks. He looked up, scared what he would see, scared that He was already here, that He’d heard everything. Draco swallowed hard before moving his gaze upwards - and blinked._

_An odd sense of déjà-vu hit him. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever experienced before, yet he felt like he’d been through it many a time already. His eyes searched for the only thing and reason he could think of: the person who had hexed him. His body felt like stone, yet he could see and feel himself slowly move, as if he was walking in extreme slow motion. However, his eyes and mind were buzzing with life. It must be a curse._

_And then he saw it, in the topmost corner over his shoulder, a shadow creeping along the wall like a spider. The moment his eyes fell on it, it straightened and let itself fall and landed gracefully on the marble floor. It moved closer, but its steps didn’t make a sound, and not until it had walked fully out of the shadows did he see that it wasn’t an it, it was a he. And he’d seen the man before. He, Harry, had. He was Harry Potter, and he was Draco Malfoy, in Draco Malfoy’s memory. Then how had the man with the top hat got here?_

_A wide grin showed underneath the hat as the man slowly moved closer, his eyes only showing when he was a mere step away from Harry. The man smelled like burn, and ashes and something else that was heavy in the air. Harry had to look up at him, who - he now noticed - was unnaturally long, making him appear even thinner than he’d seemed before. Slowly, the man moved a single finger towards Harry’s face, but before Harry could be touched, before he could feel the too long, too spidery finger on his flesh, his eyelids closed again._

  
**\- CHAPTER 6 -**  
The Ally

Harry had awoken in a cold sweat that night, and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after. The memory was burned into his mind like the Dark Mark into the flesh of his arm. He had flung himself over the edge of the bed as another wave of nausea had hit him and had thrown up heavily on to the floor. Not wanting to stay in the room any longer, he’d got up and had roamed the dark corridors - flinching at every shadow - until the sun had been bright and shining.

Breakfast had been welcome that morning, and even though his stomach was still slightly cramping, he’d eaten a healthy amount of food. Narcissa hadn’t been there, and for that he’d been glad. He would’ve had no idea how to explain to her why he was feeling and looking the way he did, even though he guessed Azkaban nightmares would have been a reasonably believable excuse. However, he was still glad he hadn’t needed to use it; there was no point in worrying her any more than she already did. 

It had been several days since that night, and even though the dreams had continued to flood him whenever he slept, he’d had no more unlucky confrontations with the mysterious man, who scared him more these days than anything had in a long while. He couldn’t help wondering time and time again what would’ve happened if he had actually managed to touch Harry, and if the reason he’d felt so very bad afterwards had been because the man had come closer to him than he’d ever had before. 

He’d moved into a deeper part of the library that day: a part where the bookcases were so crammed together that no sunlight managed to get in and the walls were lit solemnly with torches, even though the day hadn’t even reached noon. Many a day he’d been spending in the library now, without news from any of his friends or Kingsley and without wand. He hadn’t received permission to leave the Manor yet either, but somehow he hadn’t been expecting that anyway. He had figured that if Draco was being supervised, so was he, and that his best course of action right now was to go back to the original plan: research. 

Having taken another book about wizarding myths out of one of the high shelves, he slowly descended the old ladder he’d been standing on, the steps creaking loudly under his feet. He turned as he reached the floor, but backed away quickly - resulting in him tripping over one of the piles of books on the ground - as he thought he’d seen movement at the end of the isle. 

When he looked back up he saw that his scare had been for nothing - like the last couple of times - and again he wondered if he might be going slowly mental. Brushing some of the dust off his clothes, he set out the way he’d planned to: to a little corner filled with books and references that he thought might be useful in his research. He sat down between two stacks of books - underneath one of the bigger torches - and opened the one he’d been carrying, looking for its index and word register. 

Hours passed, and slowly the stacks around him were getting bigger and bigger, when he heard it: steps. He bolted upright, knocking over one of the stacks that held books he would be placing back in their rightful spots later that day, and backed up against the wall. His mouth was dry and his heart was beating heavily as the steps were getting louder. He wondered if he had blinked and _if_ he had, why he was still able to move at his normal speed. Trying to swallow, but failing due his mouth being completely dry, he dared to call out. 

‘Show yourself,’ he said, trying to sound authoritative, but heard the quiver in his voice nonetheless. 

The footsteps faltered. Harry picked up the oil lamp he’d put on one of the books and lifted it high up in to the air. 

Another couple of footsteps sounded, this time closer by. Harry turned quickly, making the lamp swing with the motion of his arm, its hinges creaking softly. 

Harry’s breath was coming quicker now. There was nowhere to go and he had no way of defending himself except for an old lamp and a bunch of books. He thought of running, but had no idea where to. Surely the man would catch him anyway, and then he’d rather stay and fight. 

When the voice of the person approacheing sounded, Harry nearly laughed with relief. 

‘Woldy didn’t want to scare Master Draco,’ it said softly from behind one of the bookcases. ‘Woldy is very sorry indeed.’ 

Harry lowered the oil lamp and took a deep and shaky breath, trying to calm his heart. ‘It’s okay, Woldy,’ Harry said, the same odd emotion hitting him as the elf stepped into sight, again with the same two mismatched socks. 

Looking at the nervous elf, something else hit him. ‘Woldy,’ he asked carefully, ‘you wouldn’t have been following me around for the last few days, would you?’

 

The elf nodded. ‘Oh yes, Master Draco, Woldy has,’ he said happily, but his eyes quickly grew wide and his voice faltered in a soft squeak. ‘Unless Master Malfoy wouldn’t want Woldy to follow him. Then Woldy apologises of course, and Woldy will punish himself severely for making Master uncomfortable.’ 

‘No, no!’ Harry said quickly. ‘That won’t be necessary.’ He sat down the oil lamp from where he had picked it up earlier and rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Just don’t do it again, okay?’  
The elf nodded uncertainly. 

‘Why were you following me around anyway?’ Harry asked. 

The elf’s eyes grew wide again, but this time not in fear. ‘Master called Woldy Dobby, sir. And Woldy was curious why Master would do so.’ 

Harry remembered the occurrence very well. The flappy ears and the socks had thrown him off completely and for a moment, just for a moment, he’d honestly believed that Dobby had returned from the dead. 

He smiled sadly. ‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘I remember that,’ and then added, ‘did you know him?’ 

Woldy nodded happily. ‘Yes Master, sir, Woldy did!’ He waggled a little closer to Harry and pointed two long fingers at his socks. ‘Woldy got these from him, he did,’ he said happily. ‘Dobby told Woldy to always wear them, and Woldy does, sir, Woldy does.’ 

Harry looked more closely at the socks now and saw that the purple one indeed had the Hogwarts crest on the side of it. 

‘This one,’ Woldy said as he pointed to the sock Harry had been looking at, ‘Dobby got from the headmaster. But the headmaster had accidentally given Dobby two of the same socks, so Dobby knitted this one,’ he now pointed at the yellow one, ‘all by himself, and gave one of each to Woldy. It made Woldy really happy, sir, because now Dobby and Woldy would be wearing the same socks!’ 

Harry had laughed at the elf’s statement. He sounded so much like Dobby it almost pained his heart, but warmed him at the same time. He’d once made the mistake to give Dobby two identical socks, and the elf had told him the exact same thing Woldy had just now. Harry wondered for the first time if Dobby had ever knitted a second pair for the pair Harry had given him, too, like he’d had with what Woldy was probably referring to as Dumbledore’s gift. 

‘So you and Dobby were friends, then?’ Harry asked the elf, who immediately started shaking his head. 

‘Oh no, sir. Dobby wasn’t Woldy’s friend. No, Dobby was Woldy’s father.’ 

It was as if a bucket of ice had been dumped over his head. Dobby had had a son. And Harry had never known; had never even asked. 

‘That’s why Lady Narcissa let Woldy keep the socks, sir,’ Woldy said. ‘Lady Narcissa and Master Draco both.’ 

Their eyes met. Harry didn’t know what to say. Did the elf know? But before he could ask, Woldy already answered his question. 

‘Woldy knows what’s been happening to Master Draco, sir, but Woldy doesn’t know you. Woldy was scared at first, yes he was, but then Master called Woldy Dobby and Woldy was curious now. So Woldy followed Master.’ 

‘I...’ Harry started, but stopped. Once more he had been proven that wizards kept underestimating the power of other magical creatures. 

‘I’m… My name is Harry,’ he finally decided. ‘Harry Potter.’ 

The last part had merely come out in a whisper, baffled and shocked as he was by his recent discoveries. 

‘Oh!’ the elf said and started bouncing on his toes. ‘But Woldy knows about Harry Potter, Woldy does! Dobby told Woldy all about him in his letters from Hogwarts.’ The elf bowed deeply, his nose touching the dusty carpet of the library. ‘Woldy is honored, sir,’

*

_’So this is where you work?’ he said as he followed Dobby into the Manor’s kitchens._

_Dobby shook his head, his ears flapping back and forth as he did so. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘No, Dobby works everywhere in the house, Master Draco.’ He walked steadily forwards, dancing between pots and pans, workbenches and other elves as he did so. Draco had trouble keeping up, he was bigger than the house-elf - even though not by much - and less used to the busy kitchen._

_‘This is where Dobby lives, though, sir,’ Dobby said and walked through the smallest of double doors Draco had ever seen. Ducking his head, he followed the elf and gasped as he took in the scene around him._

_At least a hundred tiny little beds resided against the walls, all facing each other and all neatly made. Beside each bed was a tiny lamp resting on an equally tiny table._

_‘Dobby’s bed is here, Master Draco,’ Dobby said as he pointed towards one of the beds nearer the door. ‘And Woldy’s is right next to him.’_

_Dobby smiled from ear to ear. ‘Dobby has been taking Woldy all over the house, Master Draco, to teach him all about what he has to do,’ he nodded happily. ‘And Woldy already really likes it.’_

_Draco was still taking in all the little beds. He’d always wondered where the elves went after they were done for the day, or if they were ever really done at all. Now that he knew, it made a lot more sense. He walked around the room while Dobby chatted away some more about his chores and the gardens, which he liked best. Draco knew this, of course. They’d met in the Gardens one day, while chasing one of his father’s peacocks. He’d stumbled and fallen over, scraping his knee. Dobby had been the first to come to his aid and had immediately brought him to his mother._

_His father hadn’t liked it. ‘They need to stay out of sight!’ he had said angrily, and Draco knew Dobby had punished himself afterwards. From that moment on they’d met in secret, on his request, and Dobby had shown him all the hidden corners and rooms around the house. He often had the feeling his mother knew, and was very happy that she didn’t tell him off for it. Sometimes Dobby had come to him with his ears or hands bandaged, but Draco never understood why. Dobby didn’t seem to want to tell him, though, so Draco had just accepted it for what it was._

_Back inside the kitchen Dobby let Draco pick his favourite cakes and sweets before sneaking out into the garden and eating them - together - under one of the many Manor’s apple trees._

*

Harry started to notice that the snippets of Draco’s life he was getting were closely related to what he had done, seen or said that day and so - curious as he was - he tried to find out new things about the body he was now inhabiting. Woldy helped him with this, showing him what Dobby had shown Draco all those many years ago: the kitchens, the house-elves’ bedroom and all the secret nooks and crannies of the house. Harry quickly grew familiar with its many passageways and was often reminded of Hogwarts.

Narcissa hadn’t been seen since he’d come back from Azkaban, and Harry was starting to wonder if she was avoiding him when he ran into her in the dining room. He had just sat down for breakfast when she came walking in, travelling clothes still wet with the drizzle of that day. 

‘Good morning, dear,’ she said to him and handed her things to Clifton, who had followed her in at a distance. Her hair was tied back in a bun on the back of her head. She was wearing high trousers that reached up until the middle of her stomach - a row of buttons in the front of it - and a wide blouse that was tucked inside of it. She sat down elegantly as Clifton left the room with her things. 

‘Good morning,’ Harry repeated, happy to see her again and, realising he’d missed the woman, he asked her, ‘Where have you been? I haven’t seen you around.’ 

She smiled at him. It was a knowing sort of smile, the one she’d given him many times before when she’d understood something he had not yet completely grasped as a child. 

Puzzled, he was about to ask her when Clifton returned, carrying a silver plate containing their post. 

‘The Daily Prophet,’ he said, holding the plate out to Harry who grabbed the paper, ‘and a letter for Mrs Malfoy.’ 

Narcissa lifted the heavy envelope off the plate and opened it with a flick of her finger. Her eyes were moving quickly from left to right as a scowl appeared on her delicate features. 

‘Your father’s trial has been temporarily suspended,’ she said as she folded the letter back up and returned it to the envelope, which she put down on the table. 

Harry glanced at the beige parchment, the fine handwriting of one of Kingsley’s secretaries clearly visible on the front. ‘Did it say why?’ he asked, and now it was his time to unfold his post. 

The front of the Prophet was - like almost every day since the beginning of the trials - littered with photographs of Death Eaters and followers of Voldemort's regime who were going to be tried that month. Harry spotted the now pale and blotchy face of Dolores Umbridge jump out at him, but indeed the photo of Lucius Malfoy was missing. 

‘Because of outside circumstances,’ she said, her voice cold. She picked up one of the heavy teapots and poured herself a cup, then handed the pot to him. 

Breakfast with his mother felt normal, and he went through the motions without thinking about them twice. It felt natural to talk to her, and the anger and worry that were so clear in her voice were mirrored in his stomach. Looking at his plate he felt the hunger melt away, but decided to eat something anyway, knowing that Woldy had made sure to put some of his favourites on the table that morning. 

‘Your father sends his regards.’ 

The words seemed to snap Harry immediately out of his train of thought. She was looking at him expectantly, and his answer came before he had time to think about it. 

‘How is he, is he okay?’ 

Her eyes were still searching his, though he didn’t understand why. 

She nodded. ‘He is as well as one would expect him to be under the circumstances,’ 

Harry nodded in return. 

‘He was sad to have missed you, Draco,’ but before Harry could open his mouth to answer her, explain why he couldn’t leave the house right now, she had already continued, ‘I know you’re angry,’ Harry blinked. He’d been angry with his father? ‘but it wasn’t…’ She let her hand rest gently on her forehead as if pained by the memory. ‘He does love you, you know.’ 

Harry nodded again, and decided that staring at his plate was the best course of action right now. Draco had seemed desperate when he’d cornered Harry at the Ministry. Had something happened afterwards? What was she talking about? 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said as he put his napkin back on the table before walking out. Maybe Woldy knew what had happened. 

But he didn’t. He shook his head, making his ears flap in the way Dobby’s had all those years ago. 

‘Woldy was never there when Master Draco went to visit Master Lucius,’ he said as Harry handed him another book from one of the top shelves which the elf would put on the designated pile. ‘And Woldy doesn’t listen to conversations he shouldn’t listen to.’ 

Harry chuckled at the defiant tone the elf had taken with him. 

‘Oh,’ he heard Woldy say and saw him look nervously up from him, to something else Harry couldn’t see. 

He quickly climbed down the ladder - jumping from the fourth step from the bottom - and walked over to where Woldy was standing. 

‘Oh,’ he repeated when he saw who was standing in the library. 

‘Good afternoon yourself,’ his own voice told him. Draco walked slowly up to him and pushed a scroll inside his hands before glancing over at Woldy, who was still looking nervously from Harry to Draco, and back. An odd look settled over Draco’s face, but he quickly managed to hide it, focusing back on Harry. 

‘Interesting hide-out you have here,’ he said with a snarl and walked past Harry, giving him a small shove as he did so. Harry bit his tongue, eager but not willing to raise to the bait, and unrolled the scroll instead. On it was the neat handwriting of Kingsley Shacklebolt. 

_Dear Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy,_

_As Minister for Magic it is my duty and obligation to inform you of the progress concerning your current situation._

_I regret to inform you that no such progress has been made. However, as the current status of both you is currently home-bound, it is my utmost pleasure that I can share with you a development in the approach to the abovementioned research._

_That is why, from this day onward until we, the Auror Office and myself representing the Ministry of Magic, deem the investigation fit for closure, you’ll both be working together at Malfoy Manor, hopefully with blossoming future results._

_With kind regards,_

_Minister for Magic  
Kingsley Shacklebolt_

Harry stared at the scroll a little longer than necessary before letting it roll itself back up. He looked up at Draco. 

‘I got the exact same one,’ Draco said, waving an identical scroll around. ‘Oh don’t look so surprised, Potty, yes, I checked both scrolls. Same thing, word for word. It seems your dear Minister friend doesn’t seem too sure of your version of the truth, does he?’ Malfoy grinned smugly. ‘How was Azkaban?’ 

Harry flew forwards before he even fully realised what he was doing. His hand grabbed the hem of Malfoy’s shirt - his _own_ shirt - and he slammed him hard into the wall. 

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ Malfoy wheezed. ‘Not unless you want me to give the Minister a quick call.’ 

‘You wouldn’t,’ Harry said, but let go anyway. Malfoy straightened his shirt as if nothing had happened. 

‘No, I wouldn’t. Because, quite frankly, I prefer my own bodily freedom over temporary revenge.’ 

Harry glared at him. How he could’ve ever sympathised with this bastard, he had no idea. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. 

‘Just as slow as you were in schol, I see,’ Malfoy kept on taunting. ‘And here I thought you’d actually managed to read the letter.’ 

‘Do you _want_ me to break your nose?’ Harry almost yelled. His frustration was at its boiling point, and he knew for a fact that if he’d had his wand, he would already have hexed his own body into next Sunday, Azkaban be damned. 

Draco walked around the open space Harry had claimed as his workplace, tapping several of the bookcases, torches and piles as he went. 

‘I’d prefer you not to, actually,’ he said with his back to Harry, still tapping different things. 

Harry heard him sigh. 

‘How’s mother?’ 

‘What do you mean, “How’s mother”?’ Harry spluttered. 

‘You really are daft, aren’t you?’ Malfoy said as he turned back around. 

‘I’m not - !’ Harry started, but decided against defending himself against such a crude statement. 

‘Should Woldy go?’ 

‘No!’ they both shouted at the same time, making the elf jump up and grab his ears. 

Harry looked at Malfoy, who was looking right back at him, then at the elf. 

‘How did you meet him?’ Malfoy asked, glaring, and Harry knew he meant Woldy. ‘Are you okay?’ he then asked the elf, who nodded happily. 

‘Yes,’ Woldy said and let go of his ears who started flapping with the motion of his head right away. ‘Master Harry has been real kind to Woldy, Master Draco, sir. He has!’ 

‘You’ve told him?!’ Malfoy asked in disbelief. ‘Are you insane? What if he tells anybody else? What if he tells mother?’ 

Feeling oddly satisfied at Malfoy’s obvious worry, he missed his chance to taunt. Woldy had already answered for him. 

‘Master Harry hasn’t told anybody!’ he said, the defiant tone he had used earlier back in his voice. ‘Woldy knew Master Draco wasn’t Master Draco. House-elves always knows these things, Master Draco should know.’ The elf nodded once as if to emphasise his point. 

Malfoy’s mouth was slightly agape now. 

Sighing, and hating himself for it a little bit, Harry decided to be the better person in the conversation, and answered Malfoy in the most normal tone he’d ever used with him. 

‘I don’t know how he knew, either,’ he said, ‘but he’s speaking the truth.’ 

‘Of course he’s speaking the truth, you -’

‘Would it _kill_ you to be polite?’ Harry interrupted him. ‘Listen, I like this situation just as little as you do, and I’m just as dissatisfied about...’ He waved from himself to Malfoy and back. ‘But if we’re going to keep arguing it’s not going to get us anywhere. And obviously Kingsley needs our help.’ 

He saw Malfoy grin. 

‘What?’ he asked. 

‘Except for stuck in the wrong body and you in Azkaban, probably.’ Malfoy said, still grinning, and Harry realised that it was an actual honest smile. 

He cleared his throat, not managing to suppress his own smile at the joke completely. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s do this, then.’

He told Malfoy everything he’d found out, often handing him a book or two to show him a spell, curse or myth that could’ve anything to do with their situation. He also told him about the mysterious man, but Malfoy had merely shaken his head at that. Woldy, in the meantime, was helping by bringing them fresh tea and small sandwiches, which they ate under the flickering light of the torches. 

‘So, we’ve got nothing, then,’ Malfoy said after Harry had finished talking. He was lying on his back, absentmindedly nibbling on one of the last sandwiches. 

‘What do you mean, we’ve got nothing?’ Harry felt offended. 

Malfoy sat back up. ‘Don’t,’ he said and pointed the sandwich at Harry’s face. ‘I mean exactly what I’m saying, and you should admit it, too.’ He put the sandwich back on the plate. ‘We’ve got guesses and vague indications, but no facts.’ 

Harry bit his tongue. Malfoy was right. 

‘So this hat bloke,’ Malfoy continued. ‘He only appears when you _blink_?’ 

Harry nodded. ‘What?’ he said when he saw Malfoy was staring at him with a very strange look in his eyes. 

‘Nothing,’ he said, and before Harry could protest he yawned and got up. 

‘I hope you know where to find the guest rooms,’ he said sleepily. ‘Because I’m going to sleep in my own bed. C’mon, Woldy.’ 

Malfoy walked off, leaving a somewhat confused Harry sitting alone in the library.

*

_He clutched his purple dragon a little bit tighter against his chest. The stuffed animal was a lot more worn out than it had been many years ago, but he didn’t care. A set of voices was softly carrying up the stairs, getting closer, making Draco scrunch his eyes shut tightly._

_When his bedroom door opened, his last hope of being left alone melted away._

_‘Now look at that,’ the first voice said. He heard somebody laugh. ‘Ickle little Draco is still sleeping with his teddy bear.’_

_He recognised the voice now. It was his aunt’s Bellatrix._

_‘Wakey, wakey, Draco,’ she sing-songed as she came closer, laughing again. ‘It’s time to play!’_

_Draco didn’t move. He wouldn’t move. He would not give her the satisfaction of his fear._

_‘I know you’re not sleeping.’_

_Draco’s eyes flew open. Her voice had come out at a whisper, yet it was loud enough for him to understand every single word, and her breath had felt hot on his face._

_‘There you are,’ she cackled and grabbed his chin with one of her long-fingered hands. He wrenched it out of her grasp and moved back against the headboard._

_‘So pathetic,’ she whispered and looked back over her shoulder at the man she’d brought. Draco didn’t recognise him._

_‘Will you do the honours tonight, or shall I?’ Her grin was dangerously wide now._

_Draco shivered. He didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to feel. Clutching his dragon even tighter to himself he pulled up his knees, bowed his head and closed his eyes, praying for it to be over soon._

_‘_ Crucio! _’_

__

*

Draco slowly blinked against the heavy sunlight. He was lying draped over the side of his bed, his arm hanging in a loopy angle, his breath coming in short gasps. A dripping sensation alerted him that his nose had started bleeding again. It usually did these days, after…

Forcing the thought away, he tried to lift his head enough to look around for his dragon, locating it somewhat further away on the floor. A big slash had ripped open his stomach, white flocks of stuffing lying everywhere. A sob escaped his throat as something other than blood started trickling down his face. 

A quiet shuffling alerted him to another presence in the room. He closed his eyes quickly, not wanting to know who else had come for him. 

However, it were no human hands who lifted up his face and mumbled a continuous ‘oh no’. 

He sighed and tried a smile, but failed, turning into a grimace as pain soared through his body once more. He flinched. 

‘Oh no,’ the elf said again. ‘Those bad, bad people hurting Master Draco! Woldy will… Woldy shall...’ 

He heard the elf stomp, his tiny hands still firmly on his face. ‘Lie back, Master Draco,’ he ordered, and Draco tried to oblige, but failed. ‘Woldy is going to take care of you, yes he is. And Woldy is going to make certain Master Draco will feel like his old self again before he knows it.’ 

When he next opened his eyes, it was to a warm cloth on his forehead and the sobbing of somebody next to him. He opened his eyes with much more ease than he had this morning, and found his father sitting on the side of his bed, clutching some of the bedding in his hand. Something else was moving swiftly around the room, and when he looked up he saw that it was Woldy. 

‘I’m so sorry,’ his father croaked. ‘It’s all my fault, Draco, all my fault.’ He let out another heavy sob. 

‘I’m so, so sorry.’

Harry woke up before the sun had fully risen. It wasn’t surprising, as he’d gone to bed earlier than normal as well. The memory he’d dreamed had been disturbing, and with that thought in mind he got up to take a shower. 

However, no amount of water could shake off the uncomfortable feeling of having witnessed something so incredibly cruel, and after a good hour he gave up.

He quickly put on some fresh clothes, which he suspected had been laid out by Woldy - as he had no wardrobe handy - and started towards the dining room, wondering if he could already get breakfast at such an early hour. However, when Harry came past his own bedroom - _Malfoy’s_ bedroom - he saw that the door was slightly ajar. 

He’d never been very good at resisting sudden urges of curiosity, and so he opened the door slightly further and peeked in. Draco was lying curled up on his bed, the covers having slipped off him slightly at some point during the night, and in his hand - Harry’s heart sank - there was a stuffed purple dragon. He tiptoed backwards quickly, suddenly nauseous, and decided breakfast maybe wasn’t such a good idea already after all. 

After having taken a long walk through the gardens, he finally felt ready enough to get some food inside his stomach. He had expected Draco to be done eating already, guessing it had to be somewhere around ten in the morning, but he was wrong. 

‘Draco,’ his mother said somewhat distantly. ‘I didn’t know you were having Mr Potter over as a guest.’ 

‘Neither did I,’ he said, ‘until yesterday afternoon.’ 

Narcissa inclined her head. ‘Mr Potter was so kind as to explain to me the situation’ She sipped slowly from her cup. 

‘He did?’ Harry said uncertainly, looking from Draco to her and back. 

‘Indeed he did,’ she said. ‘And as odd as I might find it that the Ministry has so suddenly decided to put us under supervision, I am grateful Mr Potter has offered to do the job.’ She nodded politely at Draco. 

‘I… of course,’ Harry said. He had to admit that it was the perfect excuse. 

‘For how long did you say you were staying again, then?’ Narcissa addressed Draco again as Harry swiftly sat down and poured himself a cup of tea, trying to catch Draco’s attention, but failing. Draco seemed way too focused on his mother to even grant him as much as a single glance.

‘I didn’t,’ he said with his most charming smile, which Harry made a mental note to practise in the mirror when he’d get back into his own body. 

‘But I am in no doubt that the Minister will let us know when the time has come for me to leave again.’ 

Narcissa sipped her cup again. ‘Well,’ she said after she’d put it back down, ‘I hope you’ll be able to make yourself at home. And if you have any questions I’m sure Draco would be delighted to show you around.’ 

‘Oh,’ Draco said, ‘I have no doubt about that, Mrs Malfoy.’

*

They’d retreated back into the library for the afternoon, Harry still reading book after book while Draco was scribbling away in a mad fashion.

‘What was that supposed to mean, anyway?’ Harry asked. It was the first thing that either of them had said since they’d entered the gloomy room. 

‘Hmm?’ Draco asked distantly, sucking on the tip of his quill. Harry looked at the odd expression it caused on his face and wondered if Draco ever thought the same about his own body. 

‘What you said to m… your mother,’ he said. 

‘What about it?’ Draco asked, still not looking at Harry. 

‘About not having any doubts that I’d be willing to show you around.’ He was starting to feel silly. Had he heard things that hadn’t been there? 

Draco sighed, put his parchment and quill down and looked up at him. 

‘ _What_ are you talking about, Potter?’ 

‘It sounded taunting, I thought we’d established-’

‘Of course I was taunting, and we’d established fighting wouldn’t get us anywhere.’ Draco said. ‘This wasn’t fighting.’ 

‘Fine,’ Harry said, and he saw Malfoy roll his eyes before focusing back on his scroll. 

It wasn’t until they were walking down to dinner together that they spoke again. The sun was already setting, and Harry’s stomach was grumbling loudly. 

‘Can’t you stop that?’ Malfoy asked him. 

‘Stop what?’ 

‘Your stomach. It’s annoying.’ 

‘My stomach is annoying?’ Harry asked confounded. ‘You can’t be serious.’ 

‘Actually, I am.’ Malfoy said and looked at him. ‘I never let it growl when I was still in there. What have you been doing with me, anyway?’ 

They were turning another corner away from the library, and were now able to smell the food coming from downstairs. Harry’s stomach gave another loud growl. 

‘What have I…? Oh knock it off,’ he said as he saw Malfoy scowl in annoyance. ‘I really _should_ have broken your nose when I had the chance. See how you’d have liked it.’ 

‘You know,’ Malfoy said, ‘for all the talking we do about fighting I’m surprised you never punched that fat cousin of yours.’ 

‘What?!’ Harry said, stopping. His stomach had just dropped several inches. ‘What do you know about Dudley?’ 

Draco turned, having taken a few more steps before realising Harry hadn’t been walking with him anymore. ‘As much as you know about my past, I imagine.’ 

Harry gaped at him. They’d never discussed the dreams he’d been having, nor had he ever thought of asking Draco if he was going through the same thing. 

‘Close my mouth, please,’ Draco said and Harry obliged quickly. ‘Listen,’ he continued. ‘I don’t care what you’ve seen or what you’re thinking, I’m not a pity case.’ 

‘Well, neither am I!’ Harry said but Draco merely snorted before continuing his way towards the dining room, which Harry followed in silence. 

‘I really think you should’ve punched him, though,’ Draco said before walking through the opened doors, and even though Harry couldn’t see it, he knew Draco was smiling. 

Harry smiled back.

  
**\- CHAPTER 7 -**  
Confessions

Their days turned into a week, and as the library stayed dark and musky, so did their results.

‘What was Kingsley thinking?!’ Harry burst out as he put another one of the Manor’s books away. They’d been spending every single day since Draco had arrived at the Manor in the library, going over documents and through scrolls and books. Harry couldn’t remember ever having read so much, and suddenly he had a lot of respect for the way Hermione had always done her research when they’d still been at Hogwarts.

Draco sighed in answer and put the parchment he’d been scribbling on down, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, and Harry noticed how tired he sounded. ‘Found anything?’ He nodded towards the book Harry had just put aside. 

Harry shook his head. ‘No. Interesting stories, but not anything like us.’ 

‘Well, let’s remember to at least make a big fat notice about it, then,’ Draco answered. ‘It’s obviously needed.’ 

‘Bitter,’ Harry mumbled. ‘What’ve you been doing, anyway? You’ve been writing for days.’ 

Draco glanced at the stack of parchments in front of him, picked it up and handed it to Harry. 

‘It’s your memories,’ he said, and when he saw Harry’s puzzled look he added, ‘the dreams I’ve been having.’ 

Harry took the pile and flipped through it. Most of the pages had an estimated age on them, season and subject. One of the bottom ones was named: _The One in Which He Should Have Punched Dudley Dursley - Summer (Holidays?) - Age 9 or 10(?)_

Harry grinned at the title. ‘Mind if I read this one?’ he asked. 

‘You’re going to read your own memories?’ Draco answered, raising his eyebrows. ‘You’re even -’

‘Don’t,’ Harry said. ‘You’ve actually managed to make me smile, don’t ruin it for yourself.’ 

‘Or what, you’re going to finally fulfil your promise and break my nose?’ Draco teased, smiling as well. 

Harry laughed. ‘One day. But for that I’ll need you back in your own body.’ 

Draco rolled his eyes and glanced at the memory Harry had wanted to read. ‘It was a particularly nasty one, that one,’ he said, nodding at it. He had his arms crossed now that he was no longer writing, his quill lying next to him on the ground, his head leaning back against the bookcase he was sitting against. ‘I figured that keeping track of what I was going through was the best course of action,’ he explained. ‘Document everything.’ 

Harry nodded. ‘Quite right,’ he said. ‘I should probably do the same.’ 

Helooked up briefly before starting to read, but it didn’t take long for him to realise what Draco had seen. It had been a particular nasty birthday of Dudley’S. He and his two best mates had caught Harry and had locked him away in the neighbours’ shed, who had been on a holiday. It had taken the Dursley family a full day to realise that Harry had gone missing at all, as Dudley had told his parents that he was merely hiding under the stairs. It was one of the few times Harry had actually cried. In the end the door had opened all by itself, which Harry had disregarded as a rusty lock, and, hungry as he had been, he had staggered back to the place he’d had to call a home. 

‘Like I said, nasty,’ Draco noted once Harry pushed the papers away from him, suddenly pale and sweaty. 

‘Do you still visit them?’ he asked, and Harry shook his head. Following Draco’s fashion he leaned his head back against one of the bookcases. 

‘Can’t blame you,’ Draco said when Harry didn’t seem to answer him. ‘Horrible lot, and not just because they’re Muggles.’

‘You know, that really isn’t funny,’ Harry said, his voice slightly hoarse. 

‘It was just a joke, Potter.’ 

They stared intently at each other and however light the air between them had been, it had now been replaced by heavy tension. 

‘Fine,’ Harry spat after a while, and picked up the next book from the stack that was still waiting for him while Draco snatched back the memories, picked up his quill again and continued writing. 

The silence continued until Woldy came darting along the many books. 

‘Mrs Narcissa wants to know if Master Harry and Master Draco will be joining her for supper,’ he said when he’d reached them. 

‘Thank you Woldy,’ Draco said, ‘You can tell her we’ll be down in a minute.’ 

Woldy nodded happily before running off again. 

Harry was the first to get up and leave, not waiting for Draco to catch up. He knew the Manor well enough not to need anybody anymore. Plus, he just really didn’t want to talk to him right now. Stalking on in silence he entered the dining room, greeted Narcissa and sat down. 

‘Is everything okay, dear?’ she asked him as he waved open his napkin and put it on his legs. ‘I thought Mr Potter would be with you?’ 

‘Not to worry, Mrs Malfoy, I only made a quick detour,’ Draco said as he came through the door and sat down next to Harry. 

Harry clenched his jaw. He had never fully understood how Malfoy managed to get on his nerves so easily, but he did. Forcing himself, he managed a smile. ‘Everything’s fine, mother,’ he said with as much calm as he could muster and took pleasure in Draco’s flaring nostrils upon hearing the word coming from his mouth. ‘We were caught up in the library.’ 

‘So it would seem,’ she said, and smiled back at him. ‘There was post for you today.’

‘There was?’ Harry asked. 

‘You seem surprised,’ she answered. ‘You weren’t around so I had Clifton bring it up to your bedroom, I hope that is okay.’ 

‘Of course,’ Harry said and sneaked a brief glance at the door. He wondered who it could’ve been from. Maybe Kingsley had finally found something. 

‘A mother does wonder what her son and an Auror are doing, spending full days in the library, though,’ she said and looked at Draco as steaming food appeared on the table. There was so much, Harry didn’t know where to look first. Even after all his time at Hogwarts, and now the Manor, the amount of food available often still amazed him. 

‘Your son has been helping me do some research, actually,’ Draco said and Harry looked up, puzzled. ‘Plus, the Manor has a splendid collection.’ 

Narcissa smiled. ‘That is kind of you Mr Potter,’ she said. ‘And have you heard anything from our new Minister?’ 

‘I’m afraid not,’ Draco answered her. ‘He is a very busy man, after all.’ 

She nodded in understanding. ‘Of course. ‘I wouldn’t have doubted it.’ 

Idle chit-chat accompanied the rest of their dinner, ranging from Harry’s choice of becoming an Auror over Draco’s interest in banking to their Hogwarts years, which had proven to be a slightly touchy subject. 

‘I heard Miss Granger went back to Hogwarts?’ Narcissa asked Draco when they had sat down in the drawing room for an after-dinner coffee. Harry had taken quite a liking to their espresso, which had surprised Narcissa, since he, as she’d put it, had always been more into their assortment of differently-flavoured cappuccinos. 

‘She did, yes,’ Draco answered for him, and Harry was suddenly glad that he’d somehow managed to pay attention to his life. 

‘Draco wanted to, but for obvious reasons that wasn’t possible at the time.’ 

Harry saw Draco’s nostrils flare again, which he managed to cover up mostly by drinking from his still too hot coffee. 

‘A smart choice, I must say,’ he said as he had regained his calm and looked over at Harry. ‘Of course, not everybody needs to.’ 

Harry knew it had been a jab, and a smart one, too, as - to Narcissa - it would merely seem like bragging. 

‘I’m sure you are referring to your offered position as an Auror?’ Narcissa asked before Harry could answer him. Draco merely nodded. 

‘Oh, I am,’ he said and a smug smile was tugging at his lips. ‘I guess luck is just _one_ of my many qualities.’ 

‘What?’ Harry said loudly. ‘I’m not qualified to be an Auror, is that what you’re saying?’ 

Draco’s eyes grew wide and looked quickly at Narcissa before back up at a now standing Harry. He didn’t know what the look on Narcissa’s face was, or how much she’d understood from the comment, but he really didn’t care right now.

‘Will you sit down?!’ Draco hissed angrily at him

‘No, I will not,’ Harry said, still angry. ‘You know, I was actually doing quite well until you came along!’ 

‘With what, stealing my life, you mean?!’ Draco retorted as he stood up himself. 

‘I was not stealing your life!’ 

‘Then what were you doing, exactly?!’ Draco was positively wheezing now, a vein Harry didn’t know he had pulsating on the side of his neck. 

‘Will you two stop it?!’ Narcissa exclaimed. Both their heads turned towards her in shock. 

‘Harry, dear,’ she said, looking not at Draco, but at Harry. ‘You are _very_ welcome in this house but please respect my son, and Draco,’ she turned towards Harry’s body, ‘please, don’t scream.’ 

Neither of them said anything, nor did they move. They just stood there, eyes wide, not sure what to do next.

‘A mother always knows her son,’ she said finally, looking at Draco. Her voice was soft and kind, and as she held out her hand in a request for them to sit back down, they both did so. 

‘For how long have you known?’ Draco asked her. His voice was small and, however much Harry hated to admit it, scared. 

‘A while now,’ she answered as she looked back at Harry. ‘It were your eyes, when you came back from Azkaban, that told me.’ 

Harry didn’t know what to say. He wanted to apologise for lying to her, wanted to explain. But what could he possibly say to her? It wasn’t his fault this had happened, was it? He thought back to the day he’d first seen the man with the top hat. It had been a normal, though slightly stressful day. Malfoy’s presence had been the only thing out of the ordinary. 

‘Mother...’ Draco said, but didn’t continue. 

‘It is a little strange hearing _you_ say that, Mr Potter,’ she said and smiled fleetingly at Harry. ‘However much I am convinced it is my son speaking to me.’ 

They all sat in silence again a little while longer, sipping coffee and looking idly around the room. Harry had downed his espresso fairly quickly, and was now looking at the patterns on the expensive wooden floor. 

In the end, aafter what felt like many an hour later, it was Draco who got up. 

‘I need to get some rest,’ he said as he put his cup down on the coffee table. ‘Mother…’ he started once more, but again didn’t finish. He turned around and walked away, rubbing his face tiredly and leaving Harry and Narcissa alone in the semi-darkness, the light of the fireplace the only thing in the room illuminating their faces still. 

‘So, er...’ Harry started once the silence had swallowed them again. ‘I suppose you’d like to know what happened?’ 

Narcissa turned her gaze from the door to Harry. She had her hands folded neatly in her lap, representing so clearly his great-grandmother above the fireplace. _Draco’s_ great-grandmother, he reminded himself. 

‘I can’t deny I’m not in any way curious, no,’ she said calmly and smiled at him. 

Harry nodded, reached out to put his own cup down as well, and leaned his arms on his knees, wondering where to start. 

‘I suppose,’ he began, but stopped to rethink his words for a moment. ‘We _think_ it started the day H… Draco and I bumped into each other at the Ministry.’ 

Narcissa raised her eyebrows at him, and without her saying anything he knew what she was thinking. 

‘Well, we can’t be sure,’ he said and sighed. ‘Look,’ he continued, ‘I know how strange this all might sound. You wouldn’t -’

‘Don’t underestimate my ability to comprehend complex magical matters, Mr Potter,’ Narcissa cut him off. 

‘I wasn’t -’

‘Then start explaining.’ She inclined her head slightly. 

He exhaled slowly. Now that he was talking to her as himself instead of Draco, he found the words didn’t come as easily anymore, and he missed it. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he continued. 

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘The day Draco and I met at the Ministry I saw a man.’ 

Narcissa’s eyebrow shot up again. ‘You saw a man at the Ministry of Magic?’ she asked. ‘How unusual.’ 

Harry laughed nervously. This proved even harder than he’d just thought it was going to be. ‘It wasn’t just a man,’ he continued. ‘This man was… well _strange_ is the only way I can properly explain it.’ 

And once more Harry dived into the story of what happened with the man, only this time he added what he and Draco had found out together about the memories. Then he told her what had happened at the Burrow and Azkaban, and how he’d ended back up here.

‘I can imagine how difficult this must be,’ Narcissa said once Harry was done talking. ‘However, I shall not pretend I don’t think this might not be a good lesson for both of you.’ 

Harry gaped at her. 

‘Oh, don’t pretend you disagree, Mr Potter, even you must admit that it is.’ 

‘I honestly don’t see how,’ Harry said defiantly, resisting the urge to glare at her. 

‘You don’t?’ Her voice was ever so gentle, but didn’t leave a doubt about him needing to pay attention. ‘There isn’t anything you’ve learnt since you and Draco ended up in the situation you’re currently in?’ 

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had. He had never known what kind of people Narcissa and Lucius had been, forgetting for a moment - and blinded by past events - that they’d been parents above all else. And Draco, the evil, pathetic, sneaky little ferret, wasn’t such an evil, pathetic, sneaky little ferret after all. Not counting the moments in the library during which he had behaved like a complete prat. But it was true, he supposed he had learnt things, and he hadn’t even realised it. 

‘That’s what I thought,’ she said.

*

_’You dare defy me, Narcissa?’ the Dark Lord asked in his high, cold voice._

_Draco quivered and pressed closer against the wall. He was standing in the drawing room, but all of their furniture had been pushed aside to make room for a long stone table in the middle, adorned with several equally uncomfortable stone chairs. The Dark Lord moved around it, wand in his hand._

_‘I had expected more of such a clever witch.’_

_His mother raised her chin, but took a step backward nonetheless._

_‘Now move aside.’_

_‘No.’_

_Draco panicked. He couldn’t let her do this, he’d rather die than have her face his punishment, His wrath._

_‘Mother,’ he said, his voice barely audible._

_Narcissa raised her hand at him without taking her eyes off the snake-like face. ‘Stay out of this, Draco,’ she commanded. Her voice was stern and powerful, yet Draco saw her hand shake slightly in the light of the fire burning in the fireplace across the room._

_‘You’ve done enough,’ she told their Master once more._

_‘He made a choice,’ the Dark Lord said, his eyes finding Draco’s for a moment. ‘Don’t let his consequences be yours. Now_ step aside _.’_

_He saw his mother take a deep breath, and he knew in that moment exactly what was going to happen._

_‘No,’ she said. Draco saw Him raise his wand and scream a ‘Crucio!’ at her. She was crawling on the ground, grasping around, screaming. He screamed too, but it wasn’t out of pain, he was screaming for her, begging Him to stop. And He was laughing, showing a wide and cruel smile. He called out for Avery and Nott, and now Draco was being dragged away, down into the dungeons, his mother’s screams finding their way down to him until deep into the night._

Harry tried to scrub off the empty feeling the memory had left him with in one of the Manor’s guest showers, but was unable to. He despised what he had seen, and despised Voldemort for what he’d done. Narcissa had put herself in the exact same position as his mother had, yet he’d only used _Crucio_ on her. 

He angrily raked his fingers through his wet hair, breathing heavily. He missed his mother, but wasn’t sure which one, and he despised himself for it. Because if what he feared was true, then Draco had been right; maybe he _had_ got a little too comfortable during the short time he’d spent happily at the Manor. 

Tucking one of Draco’s many expensive -feeling shirts in his trousers, he set out for downstairs, but not before his eyes caught the three unopened letters on the small table next to the door. He couldn’t remember them being there when he’d set out for the bathroom and wondered who’d stopped by to drop them off. Maybe Woldy, but then, why hadn’t the elf brought them to him personally?

Shrugging it off, Harry reached for the first one, on which he recognised Hermione’s handwriting, and started to read. 

_Harry,_

_We’re so so sorry that we didn’t contact you before. Kind of feels like our fifth year all over again, doesn’t it? We promise you it wasn’t intended, but Kingsley advised us to wait until they had more information about both of you._

_Well, they obviously do, although I fear it isn’t a lot, but that’s for Kingsley to tell you. He said he was going to send you his own letter, and he’ll probably visit you soon anyway. I think he is really starting to believe you, Harry, but Arthur says he still has his doubts. They fear Draco Malfoy might have cast a spell on you or something, but I’m sure he’s told you all about that himself by now._

_Everybody really misses you, Harry. Molly is worried sick, like always. Arthur told her after they’d brought you to Azkaban. You should’ve seen her storm into Kingsley’s office. I finally understand what Ron means. Arthur is helping the Auror department out wherever he can, seeing as he’s one of the few people who can help them figure out most of the details at the Ministry. He’s really trying, Harry, but it’s difficult. Ron has started to help George out more and more at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. He really enjoys it and it’s done George loads of good. Oh! And I’ve probably found mum and dad. I should’ve made sure they wouldn’t move around. And Ginny… Well, she’ll be writing you a letter soon. I’m so sorry, Harry._

_Lots of love,_

_Ron and Hermione_

Harry scowled. Why would she be sorry? Quickly reaching out for the two remaining letters, he located the one sent by Ginny and picked it up. With his heart thumping loudly in his chest, he opened it. 

_Dear Harry,_

_Trust me when I say I’m sorry. Especially because I’ll have to do it through post. I never wanted it to end this way, and it hurts me as much as I know it must hurt you. It really does, and I’m really sorry._

_I’m sure you remember when I met Wood during one of my matches. We hit it off and… well, he’s just been there like you simply haven’t been, Harry. And I understand! I’ve always understood. But I also understand that what_ I _need is somebody who’s actually able to be there for me._

_So, what I’m trying to say is: I guess this is where it ends for us. Again, I’m sorry. And I hope you’ll be able to solve this situation soon._

_Ginny_

Harry had no idea if he was still breathing, no idea if his heart was still beating. All he heard was a continuous noise in his ears. 

Wood - of course he remembered. He was the one who’d helped her get further into the world of professional Quidditch. Harry also still remembered the screaming fit Molly had had when she’d found out Ginny was dropping not only full-time Hogwarts - as she’d been taking part-time classes with Hermione - but Hogwarts completely. 

Harry laughed, but it sounded empty to his own ears. He didn’t know why, but somehow he’d always imagined them marrying, maybe even having kids together. He reread the letter a couple of times, but however much he tried, he couldn’t read anything else in it than he already had. Nor could he remember anything being wrong the last time they’d talked at the Burrow. Had she already been seeing Wood then? 

Angrily wiping away at the tears forming in his eyes, he reached for the last letter. It was Kingsley’s, telling him that he’d be visiting him soon and asking him what dates would work best for him, accompanied by a piece of paper that held the Minister’s written permission to visit Ron and Hermione at the Burrow as long as he’d let the Ministry know when and for how long. 

A knock on the door made him nearly drop the letters. 

‘Potter,’ Malfoy’s voice came from the door opening, ‘What -’

Harry had turned to face Malfoy and had realised too late that he’d let his tears flow freely while reading Kingsley’s letter. He was allowed to visit the Burrow, but wasn’t sure if he really wanted to anymore. There were too many memories of Ginny there, and too many people. 

He grabbed the end of his sleeve with his fingers and attempted to dab away at the tears, but Malfoy’s hand had encircled his wrist before he’d come even halfway. 

‘Are you insane?!’ Malfoy demanded, offended. ‘That is _Vacuna Sheep Wool_!’ 

‘It’s what?’ Harry asked and noticed his voice sounded rather broken. 

Malfoy’s gaze softened and he sighed. He took out his wand and conjured a very soft-looking piece of cloth, with pretty patterns sewed along its edges. 

‘Here, use this,’ he said and let go of Harry’s wrist. 

Harry took the handkerchief and mumbled a quick thanks before rubbing it over his eyes. 

Once done he looked back at Malfoy. ‘You’re not going to make some snide remark, then?’ he asked, but immediately regretted it as he saw the pained look in Draco’s eyes. 

‘You really hate me, don’t you?’

‘What?’ Harry asked, temporarily confused by the sudden question. 

Draco shrugged, and for a moment Harry thought to see some insecurity in the gesture. ‘It certainly seems like you’re always expecting the worst of me.’ He shook his head quickly. ‘Anyway, what’s got you all upset?’ 

‘Why?’ 

‘Potter.’ 

‘Fine,’ Harry said, fumbling with the letters still in his hand. He extracted the one Ginny had written, opened it, and then closed it again. 

Draco raised his eyebrows. 

‘Ginny broke up with me,’ he said, looking everywhere but at Draco. 

‘Well, that makes two of us,’ Draco answered him, and Harry looked back. 

‘Ginny broke up with you too?’ Harry asked sarcastically. 

Draco snorted. ‘No you st… No.’ He reached out and patted Harry on the arm. ‘But Astoria did not too long ago.’ 

Harry opened his mouth, but Draco interrupted him. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘We need a drink.’ And walked out of the room. 

Harry looked at the letters in his hand again and threw them back onto the table he’d got them from before following Draco out. Halfway down the deserted corridor, he caught up with him. 

‘Where are we going?’ he asked as he looked at one of the paintings they’d just passed. There had been two men in the picture - probably father and son - but unlike the many blonds in the pictures around the Manor, these two had appeared as dark as many of Sirius’ relatives. 

‘We,’ Draco answered him, ‘are going to the gardens.’ 

‘Right,’ Harry said and followed him in silence. 

Once outside, Draco called out for Clifton and instructed him to bring out one of the Manor’s best scotches to the centre patio. Still Harry followed in silence and ignored the glances the butler shot him. He could only imagine how strange it might look, Harry Potter instructing him to bring out drinks, while a silent Draco Malfoy stood back, waiting. 

Clifton had obliged, though, and soon they were sitting on a set of very comfortable chairs, drinking what was indeed one of the better scotches. Not that he’d tasted many of them in his life. 

Draco was leaning back slightly in his chair, his eyes closed, idly moving his glass around in a circle, the amber coloured liquid within softly sloshing. 

‘Astoria...’ Harry asked finally. ‘Isn’t that Daphne’s sister?’ 

Draco made a sound of approval, giving Harry the idea he was allowed to continue. 

‘So why did she break up with you?’ 

Draco sighed, opened his eyes and sat up, putting his drink back down on the table. ‘I cheated on her,’ he said. 

‘Ouch,’ Harry mumbled and took another sip. The liquid burned his insides, slightly softening the pain. 

‘I can almost hear you think it,’ Draco said with a wry smile. ‘Go ahead, ask.’ 

‘With whom?’ Harry blurted out faster than he’d intended to. He had indeed been wondering, but had feared the question would be too intrusive. And to be fair, he liked them being on speaking terms. 

Draco looked at him and took a big swig out of his own glass before answering. ‘Blaise,’ he then said without blinking. 

Harry spluttered into his glass. ‘Blaise?’ he asked. ‘But… he is… I didn’t know...’ He coughed and felt the scotch burn inside his nose. 

Draco smiled again, but this time it was a more honest smile. ‘Trust me, neither did I,’ he said and put his glass back down before leaning once more back in his chair. 

Harry laughed softly. ‘Blaise, though?’ he asked. 

‘Damn good kisser, if you ask me,’ Draco answered, and Harry’s face turned slightly red. 

‘So what happened with you and the Weaslette, then?’ 

It felt as if somebody had grabbed his stomach and squeezed it, so he lifted the glass to his lips and downed it in a couple of big gulps, earning a surprised look from Draco. 

‘You’re supposed to _enjoy_ that,’ he said, slightly irritated. 

‘She started dating another guy,’ Harry said, ignoring Draco’s last remark. He grabbed the bottle and poured himself a generous amount. 

Draco’s eyes followed the bottle, but he let it go. ‘Whom?’ he asked instead. 

‘Wood,’ Harry answered and, upon seeing Draco’s quizzical look, added, ‘Oliver, he was the Quidditch captain until our third year.’ 

‘The Keeper guy?’ Draco asked ,and Harry nodded. 

‘Ouch,’ Draco said. 

‘A little.” 

Draco eyed him uncertainly, so Harry decided to answer his question for him. ‘She said I wasn’t there for her, and he was… or something.’ 

‘And were you?’ 

‘No,’ Harry swirled his glass around. ‘No, she was right about that.’ 

‘Did you love her?’ 

Harry looked inside his glass, willing back the tears that were threatening to fall again. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I really, really did.’ 

‘I’m sorry.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘I said I’m sorry,’ Draco repeated. ‘Is that really so surprising to hear?’ 

Harry shook his head and smiled at him wanly. ‘Just hadn’t expected it. So,’ he said and cleared his throat, very willing to change the subject now. ‘What exactly is Vacuna Sheep Wool?’ 

Draco let out a barking laugh. ‘You barbarian,’ he said through a whole different set of tears. ‘It’s a very expensive fabric,’ he continued and pointed at Harry’s chest. ‘That shirt,’ he said, ‘cost me about 10 000 Galleons.’ 

For a second time Harry spluttered into his drink. ‘Excuse me?!’ he exclaimed and looked at the spot Draco seemed to be pointing at. ‘Are you _insane_?!’ 

‘No,’ Draco said, grinning. ‘Just rich.’

*

Two whole bottles of scotch later they had abandoned the comfort of the patio and found themselves neatly secured under a big oak tree near the bank of a small pond.

‘The moon’s coming out,’ Draco said and nodded upwards at the sky. 

Harry followed his gaze and indeed noticed a watery half full moon. ‘I like the moon,’ he answered, somewhat reminded of Remus. He missed him maybe just as much as he missed Sirius. 

Draco snorted. 

‘What?’ Harry asked, barely managing to suppress a giggle. 

The corners of Draco’s mouth twitched. ‘Nothing,’ he said, and Harry noticed his words were slightly slurred. He looked over his shoulder as if the many trees, bushes and grass behind him would give him the answer to his question of how much they’d had to drink - he had lost count after his fifth glass. He swooned, and this time the giggle did set through. 

‘Are you _giggling_?’ Draco asked. 

‘No,’ Harry answered defensively. ‘And what were you snorting about, anyway?’ 

Draco leaned towards him. ‘I could _moon_ you,’ he said. ‘Get it?’ He waggled his eyebrows and snorted again. 

‘That’s just bad,’ Harry answered with a laugh. ‘And I wasn’t talking about that kind of moon!’ 

‘What? It’s not as if you’ve never seen it before,’ Draco said. ‘Don’t you like your own arse? I like your arse. It’s a damn fine -’

But Draco was shoved roughly sideways before he could finish his sentence, and found himself sprawled on the grass, his chest choking with silent laughter. 

‘You’re drunk,’ Harry said and pointed sloppily at him. 

‘No, _you’re_ drunk,’ was the answer he got. 

Harry let himself slump back against the bark and nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Very, very much so.’ 

‘You know what you need?’ Draco asked, still on his back. 

‘What’s that?’ Harry answered and watched as Draco raised his arms above his head and spread his fingers. 

‘A good snog,’ Draco said and moved his arms slowly back to the ground as if he had just revealed mankind’s biggest secret. 

Harry shook his head wildly, nearly knocking himself over while doing so. ‘Whoa,’ he whispered and grabbed his head with one of his hands. ‘And no, Malfoy. Absolutely not.’ 

‘ _Malfoy_?!’ Draco said. ‘One would think that we’d be on a first name basis after what we’ve been through.’ 

‘Pfft,’ was Harry’s response. 

‘Such an intelligent comeback,’ Draco mumbled and lifted his head to grin at him before letting it fall back down on the now moist grass. 

‘I know,’ Harry said. ‘I am very intelligent.’ Draco just laughed. 

‘’S getting chilly,’ Harry continued and he shivered. ‘Give us a warming charm, will you?’ 

‘Give us a warming charm, will you, _please_ ,’ Draco answered, but raised his wand nonethleless. He waved it nonchalantly through the air, resulting in him needing several times to get it right. Finally a comfortable warm spread around them, wrapping itself around Harry as if he’d just crawled under a furry blanket. He hummed happily. 

‘No wait, wait!’ Harry blurted out as Draco attempted to put his wand away again. 

‘Huh?’ was the only reaction he got, but he crawled over to where Draco was still lying sprawled out anyway. 

‘Can I touch it?’ 

Draco raised a single eyebrow at him once he’d reached him. ‘Touch what?’

‘What?’ Harry repeated, and once again, Draco waggled his eyebrows. 

Not being able to shove him over again Harry resorted to thumping him hard against the arm. ‘Perv,’ he said and tried to keep a serious face, but failed. 

‘Just my wand,’ he said and longingly found it lying still in Draco’s hand. 

‘Which one?’ Draco asked. ‘Because they’re both yours, technically.’

It took Harry a while to comprehend what Draco had just hinted at. ‘You are impossible!’ he cried out and, laughing, let himself fall backwards next to Draco, who was happily laughing along with him. ‘This is the best drunk I’ve had in a long time,’ he said after his laughs had died down a little. His side was stinging a slightly.

‘Don’t you mean talk?’ Draco asked, and Harry chuckled softly. 

‘No, I definitely mean drunk,’ he said and wiggled around a bit to get more comfortable on the ground. A cushioning charm wouldn’t have been unwelcome, either. 

‘Well, glad to be of service, then.’ Draco closed his eyes. For a moment Harry was sure he had fallen asleep, until he spoke again. ‘Aren’t you curious, though?’ 

‘Curious?’ Harry asked, momentarily lost.

‘Yeah.’ 

‘About what?’ 

‘About yourself?’ Draco raised himself up onto one arm, facing Harry. 

‘About myself what?’ Harry asked in return and followed Draco’s movement. 

‘You know, what you taste like.’ There was no laugh on his face, no grin, not a trace of the humour Harry had had the pleasure of experiencing for the past hours. 

He scowled. ‘What? Of course not!’ 

‘No?’ 

‘No. Have… have you?’ Harry pried, not sure if he wanted an answer or not. He was looking curiously at Draco, as if he were seeing him for the first time. He had to admit… No, no, it was just too wrong. 

‘Might have,’ Draco replied without breaking eye contact. 

Harry looked into those green eyes uncertainly. He didn’t know why, but he noticed Draco had taken his glasses off and wondered if he’d used some kind of eye modification spell. He should definitely ask him once he’d got his own body back. Without the glasses, he found his eyes looked even greener than normal, or maybe that was because he’d never looked at himself from another person’s perspective. Maybe his eyes had always looked this green. On the other hand, he _was_ rather drunk. 

Still staring into his own eyes, he noticed that Draco was slowly leaning forward. Closer and closer he got to himself, and now he could smell the soap Draco had used. It was different than the one he usually had at home: more spicy and with a whiff of something else, something Harry could only describe as _manly_. 

Draco halted mere inches away from Harry’s face, making their noses touch. ‘Very curious,’ he breathed before slamming his mouth on Harry’s hard. 

The odd sensation quickly overwhelmed Harry, and he let himself be pushed back onto the damp grass. He felt Draco’s tongue explore his mouth with utmost efficiency, which was strangely exhilarating to Harry and left him feeling rather tingly and somewhat curious. 

Before he knew it he was moaning into the kiss, which only seemed to spur Draco on, who wasted no time and pulled the shirt out of Harry’s trousers and pushed his hand under it, exploring even further. 

Reaching out, Harry found the black mop of black hair and, with a swiftness he didn’t know the alcohol still permitted him to have, pulled on his hair, breaking the kiss. However, just as swiftly, Draco found one of his nipples and gently brushed over it. Harry’s back arched as if it had a mind of his own, earning Draco a near-sob out of Harry’s mouth. Draco only chuckled before quickly covering Harry’s mouth once more with his own and continuing the kiss. 

Harry decided he no longer cared how strange the situation was - snogging himself - and let himself surrender. He ignored the voice in the back of his head that was still protesting and granted Draco access to other spots and places Harry had no idea existed yet. Teeth nibbled on his lower lip as a knee insisted on making its way in between Harry’s legs, carefully pushing upward, resulting in more heavy-sounding moans. Kissing Draco back in earnest, he lifted his head a bit to get better access to the eager mouth. He felt Draco grin into the kiss and pulled back a bit to flick his tongue over Draco’s upper lip. 

Harry opened his eyes: Draco was staring back at him, cheeks rosy and pupils dilated, his breath coming in heavy gasps. 

‘Fulfilled your expectations then?’ Harry asked, but Draco merely grinned at him. 

There was something odd about it, Harry noticed, but before he could comprehend what it was, exactly, that was unsettling him about the way Draco was looking at him, the man jumped up and stretched. 

‘Time for bed.’ Draco’s voice was calm and sounded rather sober. ‘See you in the morning,’ he said, before he turned around and calmly walked away.

  
**\- CHAPTER 8 -**  
Truths and Interrogations

Harry dragged himself out of bed the next morning, a continuous thumping inside his head trying to rip his skull in two. He called out for Woldy, who appeared already carrying a tray with the sweetest hangover potions Harry had ever taken.

‘Master Draco needed one too this morning,’ he said. ‘So Woldy figured Master Harry would want the same thing.’ 

‘Very good thinking, Woldy,’ Harry croaked. ‘Thank you.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the blissful feeling of the potion spreading through his body. 

When the thumping had slowly dissolved into nothing more than a small headache, Harry got up and made his way to the showers. 

Draco was already sipping a cup of what smelled to Harry like coffee when he came for breakfast. He briefly hesitated in the doorway before defiantly stalking forwards. 

‘Morning,’ Draco said without looking up from his newspaper. 

Harry blushed. ‘Morning,’ he mumbled, and reached for the nearest plate containing already buttered and still steaming toast. 

From the corner of his eyes he saw Draco scowl at the paper in his hands and sip his coffee. Harry wondered if he even remembered last night at all. 

When he’d woken up he’d first thought it had all been a dream, but as the memories kept flooding in the longer he was up instead of slowly disappearing out of reach, he’d had to accept that what he’d hoped had been a trick of his mind had actually happened. 

Harry sighed as he took the first bite of his toast and closed his eyes momentarily, only snapping them back open when Draco spoke again. 

‘We’ve been summoned,’ he said. 

Harry swallowed the bite still in his mouth quickly. ‘Where?’ he asked, and took another bite. 

‘The Ministry.’ Draco looked up to hand him an already opened envelope. Inside was a letter written in Kingsley’s neat handwriting, indeed instructing them to meet him in his office that day at 1pm sharp. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair. ‘You think…?’

‘Not sure,’ Draco said, answering Harry’s unspoken question. ‘But let’s keep our fingers crossed.’ 

Harry nodded and focused back on his breakfast, which they finished in silence.

*

The wind whipped angrily at their coats as they made their way out of the Manor’s wards and grounds, the two Hit-Wizards Harry now recognised easily waiting for them as expected. Both of them were instructed to side-along Apparate with them, to make sure no set rule was - accidentally or not - violated in the process of getting to the Ministry.

Harry welcomed the familiar feeling of being pushed through a somewhat too tight tube, grateful for any kind of magic he was able to experience these days. 

They appeared in the Atrium and turned several heads as they were escorted past the security guard at the front desk and towards the Minister’s office. However, instead of being allowed inside, they were stopped. 

‘Mr Potter?’ the bigger of the two Hit-Wizards asked. Draco nodded. ‘Come with me,’ he said as he set out through one of the corridors Harry knew would lead to the lifts. Draco shot Harry a somewhat nervous look but followed nonetheless, leaving Harry alone with the shorter of the two men, waiting in front of the double doors that would lead him to Kingsley. 

However, when the doors opened it wasn’t the Minister who was waiting for him, it was the head of the Auror office: Gawain Robarts. 

‘Good afternoon, Mr Malfoy,’ he said and gestured at the chair in front of the Minister’s desk. 

Harry nodded politely at him. ‘Afternoon,’ he repeated and sat down. 

The moment he did, a series of things happened so fast Harry had barely time to process what was going on. The chair wound itself around his arms and legs as a Body-Bind Curse hit him square in the chest. Then a set of unfamiliar hands forced his jaw apart as Robarts carefully let a couple of clear drops drip into his mouth. With another simple spell he forced Harry to swallow, and a third released him from the Body-Bind. 

Harry coughed, his throat burning slightly at the intrusion. 

‘Is your name Draco Lucius Malfoy, born on June 5th, 1980 to pure-blood wizard Lucius Abraxas Malfoy and pure-blood witch Narcissa Aileen Malfoy - née Black?’ 

‘No,’ Harry choked out as another coughing fit ook over. He had expected what they’d forced him to take, but this had proved it: he had tried to say yes. Not sure whether this was on Kingsley’s orders or not - however much he dared doubt it wasn’t - he had decided to be careful, and had failed. 

‘What is your name?’ Robart asked then. 

‘Harry James Potter,’ Harry said, his mouth moving for him. 

‘When were you born?’ Robart had sat down and was noting something down on the parchment in front of him. 

‘The 31st of July, 1980.’

‘And to whom?’ 

‘James and Lily Potter.’ Harry started tugging slightly at the chair that was still holding him tightly. The Auror ignored it. 

‘Have you, or have you not, cast any form or kind of modification spell on Mr Harry Potter and yourself in the recent past?’ Robart asked and put down his quill. He leaned back in Kingsley’s chair and leaned his arms on the armrests. 

‘No.’ 

Robart nodded again. ‘I see, I see,’ he mumbled, and reached out with one hand to quickly browse the papers lying on the desk. 

‘So...’ he started again. ‘Mr Potter is it, then?’ 

‘Yes,’ Harry answered. 

‘You are Harry James Potter, stuck in the body of Draco Lucius Malfoy?’ 

‘Yes,’ he repeated. 

‘And you’re sure of this?’ 

‘ _Yes_ ,’ Harry insisted, getting slightly impatient. 

Robart raised his chin. ‘Okay,’ he continued. ‘ _If_ you are, answer me this,’ he paused and stared at Harry. ‘Whose man are you?’ 

‘What?’ Harry asked, confused. 

‘Think, Mr… _Potter_ ,’ the Auror said, not taking his eyes off Harry’s. ‘If you truly are who you say you are, you surely must know the answer to this… simple question.’ 

Harry wrecked his brain. Man? What man. He was nobody’s man. Had the Auror somehow found out about what had happened the night before? But surely a bit of snogging didn’t result in being anybody’s man now, would it? Merlin, how much he wished Robart would just retire, he’d been here long enough. Harry thought back to Scrimgeour and the interview he had wanted to set up for Harry with the man. Harry had refused at the time, and he would do it again if he had the chance, if it wasn’t for…

‘Dumbledore,’ he breathed as the sudden realisation hit him. ‘I’m Dumbledore’s man. I’m Dumbledore’s man through and through.’

*

‘My apologies for the unusual approach,’ Kingsley said once Harry and Draco had been reunited inside the Minister’s office and the Head Auror had taken off. The interview had gone on for a good hour, until the Veritaserum they’d given them hadn’t been trustworthy enough to continue anymore.

‘You could’ve told us,’ Harry said angrier than he had intended it to sound. Kingsley looked slightly hurt. 

‘You know, I couldn’t have,’ Kingsley said. ‘You know Veritaserum isn’t as failproof when the subjected knows beforehand.’ 

Harry didn’t answer, but looked at his hands instead. 

‘The results are extremely positive, though,’ the Minister continued and glanced at the two identical stacks of papers in front of him. ‘Your answers seemed to match each other perfectly.’ 

Draco nodded but Harry stayed rigid. 

‘Harry,’ Kingsley tried, ‘be reasonable.’ 

‘Reasonable?’ Harry asked. ‘Ron and Hermione didn’t need _Veritaserum_ to believe me.’ 

‘You have to understand that I’m under a little bit more pressure and carrying just a _little_ more responsibility than Ron and Hermione.’ Kingsley’s voice had turned stern. He’d stood up and was now towering over both Harry and Draco. Harry turned slightly red under the penetrating stare. 

‘We will go over the results of the interrogation again and will update you as soon as we know more,’ the Minister continued, picked up the individual stacks of paper and tapped them on the desk in order to straighten them. ‘You are dismissed,’ he said without looking at them. 

Draco straightened the jacket he was wearing as he got up. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and reached out for Kingsley’s hand, who shook it. 

‘You’re welcome, Mr Malfoy,’ he said and turned towards Harry. 

‘I hope you understand that until we go through these,’ his hand was lying on their answers, ‘I can’t do anything about the restrictions the Ministry has put upon your freedom?’ 

Harry sighed, but nodded. ‘Can I at least visit Ron and Hermione later today?’

‘That shouldn’t be a problem,’ Kingsley answered. ‘I’ll notify them and Mr and Mrs Weasley about your arrival.’ 

The stern gaze had disappeared and had been replaced by something Harry couldn’t define. He wondered if Kingsley had somehow got the news of Ginny and him breaking up, but decided it wasn’t worth the bother for now. He’d worry about her when he had to go over to the Burrow. He tiredly raked his hand through his hair and saw Kingsley glance at the motion. 

‘At what time?’ Harry asked. 

‘What about five? I’m sure Molly would love to have you over for dinner again,’ Kingsley said. 

Harry’s stomach did a backflip as he pictured himself sitting at the table with Ginny and Wood happily chatting together, and he felt himself go pale. 

‘I… that’s sweet,’ he said, ‘but -’

‘They will pick you up at eight, then.’ Kingsley smiled at him and Harry knew he was referring to the two Hit-Wizards who seemed to accompany him everywhere he went. 

‘That sounds nice, Kings,’ Harry said. ‘Thank you.’ And now he, too, was shaking Kingsley’s hand. 

‘You look like you’re in need of another snog,’ Draco said as they made their way back down the Atrium to the spot where they’d be able to Apparate. 

Harry glanced nervously at the two men walking on either side of them. ‘I thought you’d forgotten!’ he nearly hissed. 

Draco chuckled. ‘And did that make you sad?’ 

‘No,’ Harry said defensively and scowled. ‘I was just wondering.’ 

‘Uh-huh,’ Draco retorted and smacked him softly on the arse. 

Harry let out a tiny yelp and turned to tell Draco off for doing that in the middle of the crowded Ministry hall, but they’d already arrived at their Apparation point and were instructed to hold on to either of the outstretched arms. 

‘If you don’t mind,’ Draco said as he stepped away after they’d arrived, ‘I’ve got some other errands to run.’ He winked at Harry. ‘See you in a few hours.’ 

However, after a few hours Draco still hadn’t turned up yet, resulting in Harry having dinner alone with Narcissa. It was a pleasant dinner, although not what it had been before she had announced to know the truth: the formerly so familiar motions now felt as unfamiliar as when he’d first woken up inside the strange body. 

‘Relax, Mr Potter,’ she said later that evening as they sat having their after-dinner coffee in the drawing room. Narcissa’s chair was facing the large fireplace, and she was reading a very old, very battered looking book. Harry had been glancing at the big clock on the wall, sitting with his back to the windows. It was forty minutes past seven. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ 

Harry looked at her. The flames of the fire were giving her hair a soft, golden glow as she moved. 

‘It’s not...’ Harry began. ‘I’m not worried about Ron and Hermione.’ He felt a need to explain, although he didn’t know why. 

‘I know,’ she answered him and closed her book gently before looking at him. ‘Draco told me about Miss Weasley this morning. I’m terribly sorry.’ 

‘Oh,’ Harry said a little dumbfounded. ‘Right. Well, it’s okay, really.’ 

‘Really?’ she repeated after him. 

Harry sighed and let himself slump back onto the sofa. ‘No,’ he said and rubbed his hands over his face. ‘I don’t know anymore.’ 

Narcissa looked as if she approved of his answer. ‘And why’s that?’ 

Harry shook his head. ‘I mean, I was sad at first. I was.’ He started fidgeting with his sleeves. ‘But now… I’m still sad, but I’m also not sad, I just...’ 

But before he could finish the pointer on the mantlepiece told him it was seven forty-five, so he quickly excused himself and went for his coat so that at ten to eight, he was on his way towards the gates of the Manor for a second time that day. 

Molly was the one who opened the door. Momentarily forgetting whom he looked like, Harry was slightly surprised that she didn’t move to let him in right away, but stood in the doorway of the Burrow, looking at him. 

‘Is it really you?’ she asked after several long moments of silence and reached out with a shaking hand. 

Harry nodded, and let her cup his cheek. She moved his face around gently, as if wanting to take in every curve and angle of his new face. 

‘How did this happen?’ she said more to herself than to him before stepping forward and engulfing him in a tight hug. He gladly accepted the offer, hugging her back and breathing in her familiar scent. He’d had no idea how much he’d missed her. 

‘So… no doubts, then?’ Harry asked uncertainly, but she merely shook her head and stepped back. 

‘Of _course_ not,’ she said as she grabbed his arm and squeezed. ‘Your eyes might be grey now, dear, but they’re still very, very much yours.’ 

Harry smiled at this and hugged her again. Walking in together, he saw Ron, Hermione and Arthur sitting at the kitchen table. 

‘Harry!’ Hermione exclaimed, stood up and gave him another hug, followed soon by Ron. ‘Mate,’ he said as they parted, and smiled, looking at Arthur. 

‘We’ve arranged for you to be picked up here at ten to nine,’ Arthur said. ‘Just in case. We wouldn’t want a repetition of what happened last time.’ 

Harry nodded. He had known that declining Kingsley’s dinner offer would mean he’d have very little time with his friends. He looked around the kitchen. 

‘She’s not here,’ Hermione said, reading his thoughts. ‘She went to… to Oliver’s for the evening.’ 

It was as if an icy blanket had been draped over the kitchen. Arthur was looking at him with what Harry knew was pity. Ron was red in the face and was looking everywhere but at him, and Hermione was nervously playing with the ring on her finger. He couldn’t see Mrs Weasley, but felt her eyes prickling in his back. 

‘It’s fine,’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘I mean, it wouldn’t have been good anyway to… you know.. if she was already here.’ 

‘Oh, come here,’ he heard before a bush of brown hair was all he could smell and see. He hugged Hermione back once more and leaned into it, enjoying the offer of comfort. Ginny might have left him, but he knew that Ron and Hermione would always be there for him, like his own personal anchor. And as long as he’d got them, Harry knew he would be okay. 

The mood had shifted quickly after they’d sat back down. Mrs Weasley had made them all tea and biscuits, which they had consumed happily while Harry had told them everything that had happened since he’d come back from Azkaban. He left out the kiss he’d shared with Draco for now, deciding it wasn’t the right time. 

George had come walking in only a little later, clapping him hard on the back and congratulating him on this excellent piece of magic. It had taken Harry a long time to convince him that it really _hadn’t_ been him, yet George still insisted he’d collaborate with him to invent something like it for the shop, which had earned him a very condescending look from Mrs Weasley. 

Time seemed to move at least four times faster than normal, and they were still in the middle of their conversation about all the wicked things they could do with Harry as Draco Malfoy - Ron had suggested he buy them all permanent places in the top box at the Quidditch World Cup, which had earned him affronted ‘Ron!’ from Hermione. ‘Well, he’s loaded anyway, isn’t he?’ Ron had suggested, but the topic of Quidditch seats had been dropped nonetheless - when there was a knock on the door. 

Harry sighed, but obligingly got up and put on his coat, said goodbye to everybody - which in Mrs Weasley’s case was a hug that felt like it lasted a whole five minutes - and went outside to meet the Hit-Wizard who was going to Apparate him back home. 

However, as he was approaching the stone wall indicating the place the Burrow’s wards ended, it wasn’t a Ministry official who was waiting for him. 

‘Had fun?’ the familiar voice asked as Harry walked towards him. Draco quickly leaned forward and planted a solid kiss on Harry’s lips. 

‘What are you doing here?’ Harry spluttered. ‘And where have you been?’ 

‘Getting jealous already, then?’ Draco grinned smugly as he grabbed Harry’s arm and Apparated them back to the Manor. 

‘I thought you weren’t allowed outside of the house?’ Harry asked as they walked through the gates. He tried to ignore the tingling sensation he still felt on his lips. 

‘No,’ Draco said, ‘That was you.’ He shot Harry an excited look. ‘Anyway, I’ve been shopping.’ 

‘Shopping?’ Harry asked rather cynical. ‘For what?’ 

‘For you,’ Draco answered and the smug grin was back on his face. ‘Well, technically for me.’ 

The doors opened for them and they took off their coats, handing them to Clifton, who bowed and wished them both a good evening. 

‘I’m not following you anymore,’ Harry said as they walked towards the drawing room. Narcissa was no longer there, the book she’d been reading lying closed on the coffee table. 

Draco called out for Woldy - who appeared immediately - and asked him to bring them two glasses and their 1946 Macallan Whisky. 

‘I figured that if we were going to be stuck in each others bodies for a while, I better make myself comfortable.’ 

‘Meaning?’ Harry asked. 

‘Meaning clothes, Harry,’ Draco said. The elf came bobbing back in, a silver tray held high above his head. 

Draco poured them both a drink and handed one of the crystal glasses to Harry. ‘Try this,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’ll love it.’ 

Harry made the liquid swirl in his glass, it’s rich aromas almost making his mouth water. 

‘Enjoy that,’ Draco said and pointed with his glass at Harry’s. ‘It was the only one ever made.’ 

Harry looked up, shocked. ‘What do you mean?’ 

‘I bought it off an auction,’ Draco explained. ‘Last of its kind, made with coals that were shot up during the Second Muggle World War.’ 

‘You’re kidding me.’ Harry said, but Draco just grinned. 

‘Absolutely not,’ was the answer. Draco raised his glass to his lips and moaned softly into the air, letting himself relax on the sofa. 

Harry looked down at his glass. ‘And you’re sure it’s okay if we drink it?’ he asked tentatively. 

‘Just relax, Harry,’ Draco said, his eyes closed, and Harry obliged. 

With his own eyes closed, Draco sneaked in another kiss, this time tasting of nothing but the heavy whisky. Harry didn’t mind and spread his legs willingly as Draco climbed on top of him on the couch. Their moans and sighs filled the air until the early hours of dawn, where they fell asleep on the couch, limbs tangled and heads foggy with lust and alcohol. 

Morning came too soon, and when Harry opened his eyes, he groaned. There was no hangover, though, not this time. The bottle - Harry thought Draco had called it a Lalique Cire Perdue decanter - was still standing on the table, half full. 

He looked around for Draco, but found nothing but a small rectangle box wrapped in auburn velvet, a black ribbon tied around it and a note lying on top of it that read _Happy early Birthday, Harry_. 

Harry scowled, reaching out for the gift. He tugged at the ribbon and took off the soft fabric. He gasped. Inside the box, lying on the same auburn material that had been around it, was Draco’s wand. _His_ wand. He quickly picked it up and felt a tingling sensation go all the way from his fingers to his toes. 

‘You like it?’ 

Harry’s eyes shot up. Draco was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. 

‘How did you get this?’ Harry asked in wonder. He’d had the impression he wouldn’t be seeing his wand for a long time to come. 

‘I suppose Harry Potter might’ve pulled some strings for me,’ Draco said and laughed at Harry’s raised eyebrows. ‘Fine, I only went back and talked to Kingsley.’ He nodded at the wand. ‘He was going to send it to you through owl post today or tomorrow anyway, but I thought this would make for a nicer return.’ 

Harry grinned and swished it around in the air, making sparkles fly from the end. ‘Does everything have to be over the top with you?’ he asked with a smile. 

Draco shrugged. ‘It keeps life interesting.’ He walked towards Harry and slowly leaned over him, his face hoveringinches above Harry’s own. ‘Sleep well?’ he asked and placed a gentle kiss on Harry’s mouth. 

Harry sighed happily, once more pushing away the thoughts and doubts he had about what they were doing. It didn’t matter, not right now. ‘Brilliant,’ he answered between kisses. ‘I need to shower, though.’ 

Draco pulled back, making Harry want to moan at the loss of contact. Pushing that particular thought away as well, he got up and, with another soft smack on the arse by Draco, made his way to the showers.

*

‘Can I ask you something?’ Harry asked later as they were sitting by the pond once more. They had decided that they’d seen enough of the stale-smelling library and its old books. If there was going to be a solution, it wouldn’t be in text. Harry added another layer to their warming charm.

‘You already have,’ Draco said, and Harry could hear he was smiling. 

‘You said you’d cheated on Astoria with Blaise,’ Harry began, and Draco hummed in confirmation. ‘So, where is he now?’ 

‘Where’s Blaise, you mean?’ Draco asked and turned towards Harry, who nodded. ‘My, Potter, checking out your competition, then?’ 

Harry didn’t answer, so Draco continued. ‘I don’t know, probably somewhere shagging someone or something,’ he said and leaned back against the oak. 

‘Some _thing_?’ 

Draco chuckled. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Blaise is a great fan of calling himself a “free man”.’ 

Harry shivered, imagining Blaise and several objects. His expression probably gave him away, because Draco laughed louder. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Don’t try, trust me, you’ll only torture yourself.’ 

‘So you and Blaise...’ Harry tried to form what he wanted to say in his head, but drew a complete blank, not sure if it was what he wanted to know or not, or _where_ he wanted to go. 

‘Blaise and me nothing,’ Draco answered. His voice had turned soft. There was a silence and then Harry felt his hand being covered. He looked sideways to see Draco was still looking at him. With a rush of what felt to him like Gryffindor bravery he spread his fingers, letting Draco link his own through them. 

‘You were right,’ Harry said after a while. He had been staring over the pond, their hands still entwined. 

Draco grinned at him. ‘I told you; all you need is a good snog.’ He bumped his shoulder into Harry, who laughed. 

‘No, you prat,’ he said. ‘I mean yes, that too, but I actually meant about your father.’ 

Draco’s hand twitched in his own, his grin faltering. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, and for the first time Harry could see what Narcissa and Molly had meant. He did see Draco behind his own eyes, with all his insecurities and uncertainties. 

‘We should talk to Kingsley.’

  
**\- CHAPTER 9 -**  
The Man in the Top Hat

Harry felt an odd sense of déjà-vu wash over him as he and Draco made their way through the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Draco had sent a letter to Kingsley using one of the Manor’s owls. Harry had been eager to learn that they only used Eurasian Eagle owls and had lingered to pet many of them for long after.

Kingsley had quickly written them an answer, telling them they were allowed to - together - Floo to the Ministry the next morning. Harry had been delighted that they no longer seemed to require the two grumpy men to move around, and found the dizziness that came with Flooing rather freeing. 

Harry recognised several of the people they were passing, all from different floors and departments. One or two waved and greeted him, and Draco did his best to stay in character as he greeted them back. Harry even thought he saw the lady that had so unashamedly grabbed her quill and parchment the day it had all started and realised with a tinge of smugness that nothing had been published about it. Whether Kingsley had kept it quiet or the Prophet simply hadn’t been interested didn’t matter much to him. 

It wasn’t until they walked passed the pillar where he’d first seen the mysterious man that it happened. Harry turned his head, thinking for a moment he’d seen somebody he knew from work, and blinked. 

A hard wall hit him as his movement was stopped immediately. He glanced at Draco, who didn’t seem to be moving, looking as frozen as everybody else. Harry blinked again, and again, but unlike his other experiences, the world didn’t turn back to normal, and the only thing that changed were his limbs, which slowly seemed to unfreeze. As if, bit by bit, being released from a Body-Bind Curse, Harry was able to move, until he was once again fully mobile, yet surrounded by people who weren’t. 

‘Harry, Harry, Harry.’ 

Harry twirled around and faced the voice. The man had whispered, yet it had been loud enough to be heard echoing through the whole Atrium. 

‘Who are you?’ he demanded and noted how hollow his voice sounded now that the hall was depraved of any other form of noise. He reached for his wand, but the man shot forward quickly, moving almost as if he were nothing more than a shadow. He stopped in front of Harry, once more towering over him. 

‘Magic won’t work here,’ he said as he twirled himself around Harry, putting his long fingers on Harry’s shoulders. Harry shivered. It felt as if two huge spiders were slowly crawling over his back. ‘But you could try.’ 

‘Who are you?’ Harry demanded again. 

‘Does it matter?’ the man whispered in his ear. He let go of Harry’s shoulders, and slid one finger over his back before coming once again up in front of Harry. ‘No,’ he said, his lips pursed, his face mere inches from Harry’s, forcing Harry to quickly take a step back. The man cackled. 

‘Do you _want_ to know who I am, Harry?’ he asked, and Harry saw a dangerous glint in his eyes. 

‘Yes.’ Harry sounded more uncertain than he had intended to. ‘Yes,’ he repeated, this time more defiant. ‘I do.’ 

‘Ah.’ The man moved forward so fast Harry barely had time to react. The slender hand wrapped around Harry’s chin and cheeks and squeezed. Harry grabbed the wrist, which felt like nothing but bone under the thick coat. ‘Well, you can’t.’ 

‘Whoa?’ Harry tried to ask through the continuous squeezing of the man’s hand and shook his head, trying to get rid of it. The man simply strengthen the grip he had on Harry. 

‘I’m not here to give you what you want, Harry,’ he whispered and bared his teeth, which shone bright and white in the light of the lights illuminating the hall. 

Slightly panicking because he was clearly unable to throw the man off, Hary started thrashing. 

Unexpectedly, the man pulled his hand away, but not before he’d turned his nails inward, leaving Harry with a set of nasty gashes on his face. He cursed and covered his cheeks with his own hands. 

‘Then what are you here for?’ he nearly spat out. He hated the man. He hated not knowing who he was, or what he was up against. 

The man was now slowly stepping backwards, his hat covering more and and more of his face as he did so, until he was once again leaning against the pillar. 

‘I’m here to give you what you _need_ , Harry,’ he said, still grinning maniacally before shooting upwards and round the pillar like a big, ghostly spider. 

‘That, and only that,’ his voice reverberated around the room. Harry could no longer see him, but knew he was still there, hidden in the many shadows of the ceiling. 

‘And until you know the difference,’ the voice was slowly dying out into an empty hiss, ‘there shall be no release.’ 

Harry was breathing heavily now as he turned back towards Draco and - hoping that it would work this time - blinked. 

He was lurched forwards and quickly grabbed hold of Draco’s arm, who immediately looked back. 

‘What’s wrong?’ he wanted to know as his eyes fell onto what Harry could only imagine looked like his pale, sweaty and mangled face. He reached out for the wounds, but found nothing.

‘The man,’ Harry managed to choke out, shaking now that it was all over. ‘He came back.’ 

‘What?!’ Draco immediately gazed around the room. 

‘He’s gone now,’ Harry said quickly, yet he didn’t let go of Draco’s arm. What had the man said again? Know the difference. Know the difference between what? Want and need? He wanted back into his own body, but he also needed to… right? Didn’t he? 

‘Let’s just go,’ he said and moved forward. Draco followed him, but Harry knew he was still eyeing the room around them cautiously. 

Once they entered Kingsley’s oval office, Harry was finally able to relax. He saw that Draco wanted to ask, but he shook his head, indicating the could talk about it later, but not now. 

Draco turned to Kingsley, then, and shook his hand before sitting down. 

‘Harry,’ Kingsley said. ‘Mr Malfoy.’ Draco nodded. ‘What can I help you with today?’

*

‘What do you mean, he _talked_ to you?’ Draco asked once they’d come back to the Manor. Harry was examining his reflection in the mirror, wondering where the ghashes had gone. He’d felt them as if they were real, and they had burned like they were. Then why were they gone? ‘I thought you said you couldn’t move when you met him?’

‘This time was different,’ Harry explained, not taking his eyes off the mirror. He let his hand caress his cheek. ‘He said I wasn’t allowed to know who he was, because I wanted that, and then that I should learn the difference, otherwise there would be no release.’ 

‘Release of what?’ Draco raised a single eyebrow as he sat on the couch, one leg crossed of the other, his arms over the back. 

‘This?’ Harry said as he turned. ‘Maybe. I don’t know.’ 

Draco seemed to mull it over for a while, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the couch. ‘And you think he meant that you should learn the difference between want and need?’ . 

‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘No. It just doesn’t make sense.’ 

‘No, no,’ Draco answered. ‘No, it really does.’ 

‘It does?’ 

Draco nodded. ‘Think about it. We’ve pretty much been put in each other’s shoes. What better way to teach somebody a lesson?’

‘But why me? Why us?’ Harry asked and sat down next to Draco. 

‘I don’t know. Maybe it was just all a big coincidence. Didn’t you say the first time you saw him was after we argued?’ 

‘During, actually,’ Harry said and sighed. 

‘Well, you better learn the difference then,’ Draco said as he looked at Harry. 

‘What? Between what I want and what I need?’ 

Draco nodded, and Harry tried to think of what he could possibly want. His thoughts immediately jumped to Ginny, to Hogwarts, to a successful career in the Auror office - bringing justice back to the wizarding world - to his own body. 

‘And do you have that?’ Draco asked then. 

‘What… what I want, you mean?’ Harry asked, and once more, Draco nodded. No, he didn’t, he had to admit. He didn’t have Ginny, not anymore, and he wouldn’t be going back to Hogwarts. And then, during his latest meeting with Kingsley, he’d had to admit that he might’ve not been as secure with the details of Lucius Malfoy’s case, being so eager to lock everyone up who carried the Dark Mark that he had forgotten to look past it, just like he felt people often forgot to look past his scar. 

He sighed. ‘I don’t see how it would help.’ 

‘Me either,’ Draco said. ‘But you better keep thinking about it. I have a feeling this might just be the answer to our problem.’

*

Harry sighed and turned in his bed. The pillows seemed tougher than normal, and the bed less comfortable. All day he’d been thinking about what he wanted and what he needed, and he’d concluded that the man must’ve meant something else, because it just didn’t make sense.

He punched his cushion angrily and lay down again, tired. It wasn’t until he saw the first rays of sunlight seep in through his window that he was finally able to catch sleep, his dreams filled with hats, shadows and hissing voices disappearing into the darkness. 

Not much changed in the days that followed. Harry was now allowed once more to move around freely, as long as he was back before curfew. He spent his days roaming Diagon Alley and visiting Ron and Hermione whenever they had some time off, and spent the rest of his free hours with Draco, talking about past events or new dreams they’d had. 

‘I have to confess something,’ Draco said. They were lazing around on the bed in the guest room. Ron had meetings that day - something Harry had to admit he didn’t miss at all - and Hermione was following classes at Hogwarts in preparation for her Christmas finals. 

‘What’s that?’ Harry asked him. He was slowly getting used to seeing his own face look at him in the adoring way Draco stared at him these days, and he had to admit that it really wasn’t all that bad. He smiled. ‘You were secretly sorted into Gryffindor?’ 

Draco laughed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But about that, you could’ve told me you were almost put into Slytherin.’ 

‘And when would I have told you that?’ Harry asked and for the first time felt it appropriate to raise Draco’s own eyebrows at him. ‘When you were trying to hex me? Or maybe when you broke my nose at the Hogwarts express?’ 

‘Fine,’ Draco said sulkingly, but he was unable to hide his smile completely. 

‘So what’s it, then?’ Harry asked. 

‘Well,’ Draco began. ‘Seeing as you were able to admit my father wasn’t as evil as you thought he was, I suppose I can...’ His voice faltered and he lay back, staring at the ceiling. 

‘You can what?’ Harry felt smugness rise in his chest. 

‘I suppose I can admit that the Weasleys aren’t as shabby as I thought they were.’ The words had come fast and Draco swung his arm quickly over his eyes. 

‘Draco Malfoy,’ Harry said. ‘Did you just admit to Harry Potter that he was right?’ 

‘Shut up,’ Malfoy mumbled and turned over when he heard Harry laugh, pinning him to the bed and kissing him lazily. Harry softly hummed under his breath and threw his arms around Draco’s neck. 

It wasn’t until the sun went down and Clifton announced supper was about to be served that they broke apart. 

‘Why don’t you spend the night in my room tonight?’ Draco whispered against Harry’s lips. 

Harry looked up uncertainly. Kissing Draco was one thing, but actually doing other things? Harry softly moved his hand over Draco’s chest. He knew every bump, curve and mole on the body. 

‘We don’t have to do anything,’ Draco continued when Harry didn’t answer. ‘But just come and lie with me.’ He let his lips caress Harry’s. ‘Just see how you like it.’ 

‘Okay,’ Harry answered softly against Draco’s lips. He felt Draco smile, and smiled back.

*

‘Just lie down,’ Draco said once they’d reached the bedroom that evening, Harry wearing one of Draco’s silk pyjama bottoms and Draco stripped down to what Harry noticed was a new pair of very expensive-looking boxers. He rolled his eyes and eyed the bed, feeling as if it were suddenly a very mysterious object that was refusing to reveal its secrets to him.

‘On what side?’ he asked and glanced over his shoulder. 

Draco stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Harry’s torso. The gesture should’ve felt comforting, but only made him tense up. 

‘Relax,’ Draco said. Yawning, he hid his face against Harry’s neck and placed a sloppy kiss there. ‘Just lie anywhere.’ 

Harry nodded. ‘Right,’ he said and extracted himself from Draco’s embrace, who followed him closely as he made for the bed. 

Draco was the first to let himself fall on the covers, unceremoniously so, making Harry smile and untangling the knot that was in his stomach just a little bit. 

‘With the grace of a troll,’ Harry said and carefully climbed in next to him. 

Eyes already closed, Draco grabbed the air in search for Harry. ‘It’s your body, not mine,’ he mumbled as he pulled Harry closer, who settled into the hug, not feeling very sleepy at all.

After a while, Draco sighed above him and opened his eyes. ‘Potter,’ he said, sounding suddenly very awake. ‘Relax, I’m not going to molest you in your sleep.’ He had propped himself up on one arm and was leaning into his hand. 

‘It’s just that I’ve never done something like this,’ Harry said, shifting on the bed. 

‘What,’ Draco asked. ‘Lie with someone? What about Ginevra?’ He reached out and gently combed his hand through Harry’s hair. 

Now it was Harry’s turn to sigh. ‘No, no, this,’ he said and waved his free arm from himself to Draco. 

‘Lie with yourself, you mean? Potter, neither have I, or anybody else, for that matter.’  
Harry blushed and focused on the bedding. He supposed it wasn’t a big deal for Draco, who’d already been with Blaise - and who knows with how many others, his brain added and he shivered slightly. 

‘With another man,’ he said finally without looking at Draco. 

‘Oh,’ was Draco’s answer, and for a moment the hand in his hair faltered. ‘You want to go back to your own bed, then?’ 

Harry looked up, expecting to see disappointment, but only finding worry. ‘I… no, it’s okay,’ he said. ‘It just takes some getting used to.’ 

Draco smiled, and continued his stroking. ‘Then trust me, Harry,’ was all he said as he lay back down, pulling Harry with him. 

He guessed, Harry thought as he closed his eyes and tried to relax, if this is what life would look like, it wasn’t so bad being Draco Malfoy after all.

  
**\- CHAPTER 10 -**  
Blink

Weeks passed, and without any more appearances of the man in the top hat Harry was finally able to settle into his new life. He and Draco were now permanently sharing a bedroom, though besides sleeping and the occasional midnight snog, nothing much had happened yet. Harry appreciated this. He knew that if he’d had to wait this long for Ginny he would’ve probably lost his patience by now. However, at the same time he knew it was okay. Things with Draco were very different than things with Ginny. They felt less rushed, less forced and more natural. There were no expectations and no commitments, resulting in them both enjoying what they had when they had it. They hadn’t been back in the library either. The haste to find a solution had gone, and both had admitted that if there was one, it probably wouldn’t be found in any dusty library.

Harry hadn’t given the words of the mysterious man much thought either anymore. He’d figured he had probably misunderstood him. Even Hermione couldn’t get much more out of it than what Draco already had: learning from another’s life. 

Harry straightened the jacket he was wearing in front of the mirror. Behind him, rummaging sounded from the bathroom. 

‘You know we need to be there in twenty minutes, right?’ Harry called out and heard Draco curse. 

‘It’s not my fault! Your hair simply won’t. stay. down.’ 

Harry chuckled softly and hoped Draco wouldn’t hear. ‘I know,’ he answered. ‘It kind of does that.’ 

Draco almost stormed out of the bedroom, a look of utmost desperation on his face. ‘Fix it,’ he demanded, and Harry sighed. 

‘It can’t be fixed,’ he said, trying to flatten it with his hands. ‘I’m sorry, but you’ll simply have to go out looking… well, like me.’ 

Draco huffed and stalked past him, grabbing his own jacket from the bed. He was wearing a pair of dark and very tight trousers, topped off with an equally dark jacket adorned with a straight row of pure golden marine buttons. The jacket closed high, and Draco played with the collar of his shirt that was visible above it. Topping it off with a red scarf and neatly tucking it into the jacket and blouse, he turned back to Harry. 

‘How do I look?’ 

‘You look fine,’ Harry said. ‘Besides, it’s not about how _you_ look.’ 

‘I know, I know,’ Draco sighed and started fidgeting with the buttons. 

Harry took a couple of steps towards him and wrapped his own hands around Draco’s. ‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fine. Kingsley wouldn’t let him go up otherwise.’ 

Draco nodded, and Harry saw him swallow nervously. 

‘Come here,’ he said and pulled him into a hug. Draco sighed against his neck, wrapping his own arms around Harry.

*

It had been a long time since Harry had last stepped into the Wizengamot’s main courtroom: Courtroom Ten. The last time had been when Harry had been called in for producing a Patronus Charm in front of Dudley. He still felt angry at the thought, and automatically clenched the fist on which should’ve been the scars saying ‘I should not tell lies’.

He whispered a quick “Good luck!” to Draco, who moved to the other side of the room with Ron and Hermione, and followed Narcissa to one of the stands nearer to the front. 

Harry resented now how public these hearings were, and resented even more that he had been one of the Aurors who had voted for open trials in the first place. Back then it had seemed like a good way to humiliate the people who had made his life a living hell even further, but now it just looked sad. He noticed Narcissa following her son’s movement through the other side of the room, and laid his hand over her folded ones in her lap. She smiled appreciatively at him and seemed to take a deep breath. 

There were no Dementors present as Lucius Malfoy was brought in. However, the whole Minister’s official guard stood spread around the edges of the room, and the chair still wound itself greedily around Malfoy’s limbs as he was sat down. 

Lucius looked horrible. His face was sunken, dark circles stood out around the empty eyes, and a stubbly beard tinged with grey cast a soft shadow of his jawline. His hair was dull and straw-like, the tangles clearly visible even from a distance. He was no more than a shadow of his former self. 

‘Lucius Abraxas Malfoy,’ a voice resonated around the room. Harry looked up to find Kingsley sitting on the highest stool of the courtroom’s podium. ‘You are being charged with accepting the Dark Mark, willingly, during the first wizarding war, casting of the Imperius Curse, willingly, and manipulating, corrupting and blackmailing Ministry officials willingly. How do you plead?’ 

Harry saw Lucius stare up at the podium, where to him the only thing that stood out would be Kingsley’s silhouette. He saw his mouth move, but no sound seemed to be getting out initially. 

‘G… guilty,’ Lucius finally managed to mutter, and Harry felt Narcissa flinch next to him. He grabbed her hand a little tighter, and she laid her free one on top of his. 

‘You are also charged with,’ Kingsley continued after slamming his hammer loudly on the bench in front of him to demand silence, ‘casting of the Cruciatus Curse, unwillingly, casting of the Avada Kedavra Curse, unwillingly, and following the man to whom you would refer as The Dark Lord, unwillingly, during the second wizarding war. How do you plead?’ 

It was as if somebody had cast a silencing charm on the whole room. Nobody seemed to move, all eyes fixed on the sole man in the middle, whose head was bent with the strain it took him to answer. 

‘Guilty,’ he whispered, but loud enough to hear. Kingsley immediately slammed his hammer down on the bench again as the room erupted into a roar of voices, screams and yowling. 

‘SILENCE!’ he demanded loudly. ‘Mister Harry James Potter, the stand is yours.’

*

‘You did fantastic,’ Harry said as he hugged Draco tightly. He hadn’t spoken a word since the trial had ended, and had wanted to go straight home to the Manor. Harry had said his fleeting goodbyes to Ron, Hermione and Kingsley, promised them he’d drop by later and had followed Draco home.

‘Ten years,’ Draco croaked. ‘He’ll be in Azkaban for _ten_ years, Harry.’

‘That’s ten instead of life, though,’ Harry tried, but seeing the desperate look on Draco’s face knew he hadn’t been doing a very good job. 

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I know ten years feels like a really long time, and it _is_ , but he was going to get sentenced anyway, we both knew that.’ He softly stroked Draco’s cheek. ‘He got the best possible deal, especially with you testifying. Nobody’s going to question anything now.’ 

‘I’m going to miss him _so_ much, though,’ Draco whispered and dropped his head onto Harry’s shoulder. 

‘I know,’ Harry said into the dark hair. ‘I will, too.’

*

Dinner that evening was a quiet affair. Narcissa was paler than ever, dabbing her eyes every now and then with the tip of her napkin. Draco was sitting next to her, his head on her shoulder. Harry noticed how odd it looked to see himself so comfortable and curled up against the woman, his dark hair creating a sharp contrast against her almost silver locks.

Harry played around with the food on his plate for a while before excusing himself from the table and heading towards the drawing room for an early coffee. He needed some alone time. 

Nobody knew he was mourning. Nobody expected him to. He knew himself he probably shouldn’t. But here they were, all the memories from Draco’s past, which had almost completed itself now, and so also many memories of the man who maybe wasn’t his dad, but most definitely felt like it. 

Yet it felt intrusive to openly show sadness in the house. This moment was for the Malfoys, who - even though it had been a certain fact from the beginning - had now definitely and irrevocably been ripped apart for the coming decade. That is, if Lucius would survive. 

Harry thought back to the days he’d spent in Azkaban and shivered. He hadn’t even been there a week and the place had already got to him. Lucius had already been there for months. Fair enough, the months leading up to the trial were usually subtracted from the final sentence, but he’d looked so ill. 

And then a thought occurred to him. Maybe he could talk to Kingsley, arrange a monthly meeting with Lucius. For Draco, of course, not for himself, he tried telling himself, but knew that deep down inside he wouldn’t mind seeing the man who had come to mean so much to him. A man who, once he’d be back in his own body, would have little to no memory of him. 

He walked over to one of the larger windows and leaned his face against it, the cold weather from outside cooling the glass and relieving some of the ache that had been steadily pounding in his head. 

Some days, especially after one of the memory dreams, he would wonder if his parents had been anything like Lucius and Narcissa. 

Some days, he pretended they were.

*

‘Do you think we’ll ever get back into our own bodies?’ Draco asked him some nights later, as they were lying in bed.

“Mhm,’ Harry made, not wanting to have to open his mouth to say anything. He’d been close to falling asleep when Draco had spoken. 

‘Would you mind though?’ was his next question. 

Harry opened his eyes and stifled a yawn behind his fist. ‘What would I mind?’ he asked sleepily. 

‘Not getting back into your own body?’ Draco answered him. He was caressing Harry’s chest now, his finger circling one of Harry’s bare nipples. 

‘I don’t know,’ he sighed. ‘But I guess that if I have to get stuck in anybody’s body, I’m happy that it’s you.’ 

He felt Draco nod against his chest. ‘Yeah,’ Draco said. ‘Me too.’

*

A soft breeze moved through his hair, making him shiver slightly. Harry reached for the covers and pulled them up higher, squinching his eyes shut as he reached out for the body that was supposed to be lying next to him. However, as he groped, he found nothing but the edge of the bed. Harry groaned and pulled the covers all the way over his head, not knowing where Draco was, but not wanting to get up to find out, either.

He turned around, trying to steal as many of the covers as he could, when another soft moan sounded from the other side of the bed. 

‘Good morning,’ he mumbled softly. His voice sounded strange to his ears, a little hoarser and deeper, but he pushed the thought away when he finally came in contact with the body lying in bed with him. Apparently they had switched sides during the night. 

He reached out for Draco and pulled him closer, planting a sloppy morning kiss on his lips. 

‘Morning,’ Draco whispered, wiggling his nose against Harry. 

‘Did you slee...’ 

‘What?’ Draco asked.

Harry’s eyes had flown open. He had wanted to play with Draco’s messy black hair, but instead had only found soft locks. 

‘Draco!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘Draco, open your eyes!’ 

‘Why?’ Draco groaned and wiggled deeper under the covers. ‘’m still tired.’ 

Harry shook his arm roughly. ‘Draco, listen to my voice, listen to _yours_! Open your eyes! We’ve switched back, Draco! We’ve switched back!’ 

Draco opened his eyes so quickly Harry was sure he’d only been pretending to be asleep. He focused on Harry and froze, eyes wide, mouth slightly slack. 

‘Merlin,’ he whispered and reached out for Harry’s face. ‘Great Merlin,’ he repeated, trailing his finger over Harry’s nose, his cheeks and lastly his lips. 

Harry smiled and looked around the room, stretched out his hand and wiggled his fingers. ‘You’ve honestly fixed my eyesight,’ he said happily and was about to get up when Draco grabbed his arm. 

‘What are you doing?’ Harry asked. ‘We need to tell Kingsley! And Ron, and Hermione, and ...’ 

‘And Ginny?’ Draco asked. 

Harry looked down at him, and sat back on the bed. He raked his hand through Draco’s soft hair and gasped slightly at the silky feeling. He didn’t know why, but somehow the strands felt even more delicate than they’d felt when they’d been his. Yes, he could tell Ginny, but he doubted it would change how she felt about him, or he about her.

‘No,’ he said and smiled warmly at Draco, ‘only you.’ 

He leaned back into the bed and captured Draco’s lips with his own. The sensation was something entirely new, the kiss like they were sharing their first. He moaned softly. 

Leaning up somewhat, Draco deepened the kiss, exploring Harry’s mouth with a feverish intensity. He let one of his hands roam free over the so familiar and yet unfamiliar body - the other still supporting him - and moved downwards. 

Harry was tugging at Draco’s bottoms now. Draco let him, breaking the kiss only to kick off the tricky pyjamas. Harry moaned at the loss and reached up, demanding more, demanding it faster. Pulling off his own boxers, he arched up and gasped, the friction unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Moaning against each other, Draco slowly moved his hand further and further down. 

‘What...’ Harry gasped as he realised what Draco was doing. 

‘Do you trust me?’ Draco asked, voice heavy with lust. 

Harry looked into the grey eyes. He knew he could say no, knew that Draco wouldn’t mind, knew he only had to utter a single hint of doubt. 

‘Completely.’

**Epilogue**

‘Are you sure you’re ready for this?’ Draco asked Harry as he came walking down the entrance hall stairs. Draco had been waiting at the front door, the gift they were planning on giving Ginny already in his hand.

It had been a few weeks since they had switched back, but Harry had never moved out of the Manor, welcomed by both Draco and Narcissa. He _had_ moved his stuff out of Grimmauld Place - Kreacher had been given the choice to go back to Hogwarts or come with him to the Manor, and was now happily residing in the backroom of the kitchens with Woldy - and was now permanently inhabiting Draco’s room. 

Harry nodded as he walked up to Draco, who handed him the present and started to straighten his new jacket. ‘Absolutely,’ he said. 

They’d been sent an invitation to Ginny’s and Wood’s engagement party shortly after they’d announced they had been returned to their own bodies, and Harry suspected that she’d waited until that moment to spare his feelings. Looking up at Draco, he thought he ought to tell her she really shouldn’t have worried. He had all he needed right here. 

‘We’ll need to tell them, though,’ he said and stroked the rich-feeling velvet he was wearing. Draco had spent - once again - a fortune on their shopping. 

‘I don’t think that will be a problem.’ Draco softly caressed Harry’s cheek and leaned in for a kiss. 

‘And why’s that?’ Harry whispered. 

Draco grinned, his face inches from Harry’s. ‘Well, let’s just say it wasn’t Ginevra with whom you were obsessed during 6th year.’

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment here, or return to [Livejournal](http://hd-tropes.livejournal.com/27643.html) to comment ♥


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